


Beating Christmas

by KingdomLights



Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Christmas fic, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Kid Fic, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:48:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 52,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21673078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingdomLights/pseuds/KingdomLights
Summary: Eight year old Olivia has just one wish this Christmas - she wants a dad. She loves her mom, but let's face it, she's not exactly great at the whole dating thing. The only way to fix that, is to take matters into her own hands. One viral video later and she knows she's on her way to finally getting a dad - and maybe a dog - before Santa can even make it down the chimney.News anchor Scott Moir can't afford a PR disaster, not with his face on buses all over the city and his disarming smile working its magic into Canadian living rooms every morning. So when he finds himself in hot water just weeks before Christmas, Scott has no choice but to play ball or risk losing the job he loves.Tessa Virtue also loves her job - she just can't stand her co-host. It was only ever meant to be a temporary thing, biding her time until she got her own spot. But producers - and audiences - liked what they saw. THEY called it chemistry. SHE called it a headache. But when a disastrous morning reveals their partnership is a fraud, the race is on to repair the damage. With a Christmas deadline just weeks away, the duo wonder if a heartfelt plea from a young girl looking for a dad is just what they need to get themselves back on top.
Relationships: Scott Moir/Tessa Virtue
Comments: 452
Kudos: 262





	1. Oh Chemis-tree

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Miss_Six](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Six/gifts).

> Have you ever written a fic and when you were finished thought "Hey, I'd like to write it again, but different"?  
That's what this is.  
This is not a sequel to Finding Christmas. But characters in it, you may have met before... in another universe. It's like the Carry On films where they'd use the same actors but tell a different story.  
I've always loved that post on tumblr that talks about our ability to read the same story over and over again, just told in different ways. I hope this is that.
> 
> This fic is for Lori - who has a desperate yearning for morning show hosts who hate each other at first AUs. Apparently, she needs it in her life.

[ ](https://imgur.com/pZGDnIr)

* * *

Hi.

My name is Olivia.

I’m eight years old and I love dogs, Ferris Wheels, and skating. Oh – and Dance Dance Revolution.

My Mom is the best at it. She’s also the best at other things too – like being a person.

She’s funny and kind and sometimes puts her keys in the refrigerator and takes an orange to start the car. She’s not really a morning person but you can’t hold that against her. We have to get up early so that I can get to Grandma’s before school and she can go to work. Sometimes I go to my Aunt’s place if Grandma’s out of town and I end up doing something called ‘cardio’. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of it but it’s a lot like being murdered so, no, I don’t recommend it.

My Mom talks a lot but don’t worry… that’s just her job. She won’t talk all the time if you don’t want her to, like if things are going badly and you feel you need to pray. She doesn’t talk all the time like my teacher either, who gets _really_ excited whenever somebody mentions a good verb. My mom talks hm… maybe… like a medium amount. I don’t really have the exact numbers. Anyway, she likes chocolate and going to the gym. And baths. And books. I like books too, but we don’t read the same ones. Momma says they’re a little too old for me. So... maybe when I’m nine.

I love my Mom a lot. She’s the best. Did I say that already? Just… don’t ask her to cook for you if that’s gonna be the thing you’ll judge her by. She gets a little stressed when the water starts to boil.

That’s why I’m here really. And why I’m doing this.

Because… I need your help.

You see, the thing that I want most for Christmas…

… is a dad.

I’ve never had one. Not my whole life. And _usually_ I’m okay with that but this year… I decided it would be a good idea to get one - _and_ maybe a dog - but I don’t want to be greedy.

I love my Mom, but I gotta face facts – she’s never been good at the whole dating thing and I don’t really have any experience in that area just yet. Although one time in Kindergarten it was raining, and this boy named Cooper tried to hug me after he’d been holding a bunch of slugs and his shirt was all slimy and he had boogers in his nose. So if that was a date, it was the worse one ever.

So, like I said, I’m taking matters into my own hands and I… we… need your help.

So why do I want a dad?

Well… honestly? Because my Mom deserves all the love that there is in the world. She works so hard and she does a lot for me and a lot for other people who don’t have as much and who don’t have the same opportunities that we do. I just want someone to love her as much as I do. To spoil her on her birthday, watch old movies with at night-time because I have to go to bed… and maybe to flip the pancakes over when she’s forgotten she was making them. I just want somebody to make her feel special.

And I… I’d really like a dad. Not just to talk about wrenches and light bulbs and bacon and stuff but… to talk about real things too. Dad things.

I don’t know what it’s like to have a dad and I think it’s pretty late in the year to just be relying on Santa for this sort of thing, on account of it being such a big project and all. So, I’m turning to you… people of the Internet… for help. Please help me find a dad this holiday season and please help me to also understand what makes your dads so special. I know it’s short notice but with you by my side I believe we can do it. I believe that together… we can beat… Christmas.

Thank you very much.

P.S. must be a _Leafs_ fan.

Thank you.  
Merry Christmas.  
Love  
Olivia.

* * *

“Good morning Toronto, I’m Tessa Virtue -”

“And I’m Scott Moir, and we’re live from Eaton Centre where the holiday season is already swinging.”

“Shouldn’t that be _sleighing_?”

“How could I have missed that one, eh? It was right in front of my nose.”

“Well, Scott, it’s easy to miss when you’ve got so much choice.”

“I thought you were gonna say when you've got such a big nose! But you're right! In fact, if any of you are out there in the cold this Friday morning wondering where all of your holiday decorations have gone, I’d bet you a toonie they’re all in here! You laugh now, Tess, but I just walked by Santa’s Grotto and was nearly eaten by a reindeer.”

“Maybe she thought your nose was a carrot?”

“And I swear one of the elves looked at me funny.”

“Hm, maybe if you hadn’t swung your leg over Dasher and shouted ‘yee-haw’?”

“You got me there, Virtch. Christmas just gets me overly excited.”

“Me too. There’s so much of the season to cherish and be thankful for.”

“I agree. And from the both of us here at _The Morning Show_, well let’s just say that we can’t wait to share it… with all of _you_.”

“Join us today as we search for that ideal gift for a special someone -”

“Taste that perfect cup of eggnog -”

“And spread the magic of giving this Christmas.”

“And hey, if you’d like to find out how many pieces of tinsel it would take to wrap me from head to toe, come and find us today at 10 a.m. outside _Indigo_ bookstore and we’ll make this holiday season _Moiry _and bright. Did you see what I did there?”

“Uh huh.”

“Moiry…”

“Yeah, we got it.”

“Okay then! Well, judging by her expression, you might have to get down here early because it looks like the Virtch here wants the first go.”

“Oh, I’m _already _holding the tinsel.”

“Okay, well that’s… mmf, I fink yir mint to dart at the feet…”

“Oh was I? Oops! Well, I… uh… I guess while I figure out how to make this Scottmas tree over here, it’s back to you in the studio!”

“_And… we’re… out. _Justin! Find me some doughnuts before my blood sugar hits the floor. You two – behave.”  
  
  


Tessa and Scott watch as their producer, Maddy, hurries after the intern anyway, clearly not trusting him with something as serious as sweets.

“Oh, thank God,” Tessa says, swiping a curl from her forehead and leaping backwards over the unruly pile of tinsel.

“Seriously?” Scott says, untangling the bit from his mouth and flicking his tongue out in distaste. “Was that really necessary? This has been in the truck _and_ on the floor, God knows where else it’s been.”

“I’m sure your tongue has seen worse places,” Tessa says, her eyes flitting briefly in his direction before she turns to smile at Tanya who bounds over, dodging a camera cable, before attacking Tessa’s cheeks and chin with a powder puff.

She can feel his irritation, the burning of a retort he doesn’t dare say in public radiating into the space between her shoulder blades, and she feels a small sense of victory having one up on him this early in the day.

When the makeup artist steps away, presumably due to the presence of great evil behind her, she sighs – the safety barrier breached.

“Can I help you?”

He’s right beside her, hands clasped gamely behind his back, smiling out at the newly forming crowd. Tessa masks her expression, aware of the cellphones pointed in their direction, conscious of the fact that both of their jobs relied on this partnership working.

“Do you... _want_ me to tell you where you went wrong with that one?” Scott murmurs.

She wants to roll her eyes. Wants to tip the cup of eggnog he’d just been handed out of nowhere right into the folds of his Saffron Road sweater.

She says nothing.

She’d already realized her mistake the second she’d said it.

His mouth twitches between sips and she wonders briefly if she disconnected one of the wires below them, could she give herself a serious enough shock to get her out of the rest of today.

Tessa could handle Scott most days. It was an easy enough push and pull that they both managed to convey to millions of viewers every morning. I take a shot at you, you take a shot at me, and audiences lap up the banter like it’s a bowl of cream, safe in the knowledge that it’s all just for show. More threads had been written about them and their ‘chemistry-infused’ antics than she could keep track of.

Not that she ever needed to.

Her boss made sure to dump them in a fortnightly email, the not-so-subtle reminder of the deal that they’d made.

She checks her phone for want of ignoring him.

_yes girl. @tessavirtue wrap that boy up and take him home!_

_@tessavirtue is his stocking as hung as it looks?_

Sigh.

Twitter should not be allowed to have that many words.

Scott has to hate this too. He wants to be a Sports anchor, not on a morning news show with a woman who’d rather fly solo. And yet here they are. Working for the job they want with a person they hate, always having to pretend they’re more than what they seem. Play up the doe eyes, look at her like there’s no one else in the universe, leave no room for Jesus - that’s how this works. You’re best friends, you’re Canada’s darlings, and you _never_, _ever_, let on that you’d rather be poking each other in the eye with sharp sticks. That’s the Rule. Keep it… for three hundred and sixty-five days… bring in those ratings… and you both get what you want.

She risks a glance at him. It’s day three hundred and four, surely she can do this.

He’s still smirking into his cup.

“I hope you choke on your eggnog,” she says.

* * *

Straddled either side of a store Santa’s knee is not how Scott saw himself starting his day.

Crazy thing is, he’d probably be game if Virtch didn’t have a bug up her ass about something and wasn’t constantly knocking into him while she perched herself awkwardly on Santa’s other leg.

“So… Scotty!” Santa says.

Tessa catches his eye, and he watches the way she bites down on her lip, suppressing the smile. Not subtle enough that the camera wouldn’t catch it, but enough to let the audience in on the fact that Mr. Claus had committed a serious faux pas.

“What is it that you would like for Christmas?” The Santa smiles jovially, blissfully unaware of his misstep.

“Uh… well…” Scott glances up at the camera, dutifully bashful. "Do you know what? I'm not really sure."

“You could… wish for the _Leafs_ to win the Stanley Cup?” Tessa suggests.

Scott cocks his head. Whatever her earlier beef, not that they ever needed much persuasion to jump on each other's nerves, she was back to playing the game and viewers always loved it when either one of them brought up their former sporting careers.

“A little early for that,” he says. “And I don't know, eh, I like it if I really get to rip something open on Christmas morning.”

“And how about you, Tessa?” the store Santa says, peering over his spectacles. “I'm sure over the years you've received a lot of skating gifts what with your past Olympic wins and all. But is there anything in particular you're wishing for this Christmas? ”

“I…”

Scott watches her closely, keenly aware that millions of Canadians were also watching the way she ducked her head, and fidgeted with her hands, green eyes lost in thought. There’s a stain on her cheeks, the beginnings of a flush that was difficult to miss. To anybody else, the cause could be the warmth of the lights and their ridiculous seating on the jolly red giant beneath them. But Scott likes to think he knows her a little better than everybody else – and he reads the embarrassment as easily as he handled a flip pass back in the day. He was pretty damn sure she wasn't someone who decorated her house with constant reminders of her past achievements, just as he was sure that whatever had sparked her flush, was not something she wanted to talk about with a fake Santa on live television. 

He can feel the nagging sensation starting to poke at his brain, even while he's wondering _why_ he felt the need to come to her rescue when she’d damn near tried to stuff his sinuses with tinsel.

“Hey, you know the weirdest gift I ever got?” he says, hoping that Tessa damn well appreciated him for this one. “I dated a girl from Alaska once, and she got me a can of sardines and a set of swizzle sticks."

"Well now that sounds -"

"Made out of moose poo.”

Scott has a second in which to see the surprise and then the pure glee set in his co-host’s eyes before he’s rocked suddenly by Santa throwing his head back and belting out a Ho! Ho! Ho! Tessa wobbles too, her balance thrown off by the sudden loss of Scott’s knee against her own and she tips forward as Santa tips back, his chair rearing up on hind legs. Scott reaches for her but he’s already going down and all he can do is brace for impact as he hits the floor below, Tessa landing on top of him, the fake snow doing anything _but_ cushioning the shock from jolting up his spine. Santa’s chair has righted itself once more, the man in the suit still gasping and clapping, his eyes scrunching in pure delight.

Scott blinks, moving Tessa’s hair out of his eyes, finding her own staring right back at him. There’s a moment of… something. Loathing? Longing? Indigestion? And then they’re both turning towards the camera, identical expressions trying to convey that it was a perfectly normal thing to lie in a bed of fake snow on top of one’s co-worker.

“Okay, and... we’ll be right back after these messages,” Tessa says.

“_And we’re out_! Christ you two, that was hilarious, I swear to God a little pee came out.”

Scott stares up at their producer, getting another mouthful of hair as Tessa’s head tilts up in turn.

“Maddy,” Tessa says, slowly. Please tell me you cut… _before_… this.”

“Are you kidding me? That was _platinum_. I just got a raise. Justin! Schedule!”

He can feel the heave in Tessa’s body as she sighs against him and Scott wonders how long it’ll take before she registers she’s still on top of him.

“Don’t look at me like that Moir,” Maddy says. “You get to lie down on the floor with a beautiful woman on top of you. I’d give my left tit for that. But my wife’s currently in Flin-Flon, trying to stop her father from buying a mobile home and _I’m_ stuck here with you clowns and your weird ass… thing.”

“Flin-Flon?” Scott murmurs. “Is that a real place?”

“We do not have a thing,” Tessa says.

Maddy stares at them both, before flapping her arms in front of her. “And _yet_.”

Scott moves his head as Tessa looks down, their noses bumping mid-swivel.

It’s the absence of breath against his skin that tells him she’s holding it, and he flashes a lopsided grin her way. Mostly to ease the tension, but also because the rest of his body was slowly becoming aware of its proximity to hers and he'd made a silent promise to himself a year ago that when it comes to Tessa Virtue, feelings - of any kind - were simply not allowed.

“Comfy?” he says. “Can I get you anything? Pillow? Doughnut? A rousing chorus of Jingle Bells?

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, knowing it'll probably irritate her.

“I swear to God, if I hear a single… bell… jingle,” she says, lowering her eyes before pushing up onto her feet.

“Many a lady would not object.”

“Many a _lady_ have not been subjected to the putrefied smell of a men's locker room bottled in the recently unsealed enclosure of your hockey kit," she replies. "Thank you by the way, for leaving that in my dressing room overnight."

"I couldn't get into mine," he says. "They were re-doing the carpet and I needed somewhere secure to store it."

"And it didn't occur to you to... I don't know... take it home?" she says.

"That was the plan," he replies, trying to keep a lid on his growing irritation. "But I got caught up in something and forgot about it."

"Yeah, well, you're good at that, I guess."

She swallows quickly and he knows he's staring down the barrel of one of those rare moments where she'd said something she hadn't meant to. Tessa usually kept a careful lid on her emotions but every now and then Scott was successful in poking holes in the box. He raises his eyebrows, inviting her to continue, but she looks away.

She'd been looking away from him ever since they'd won _Battle of the Blades, _so he probably shouldn't be surprised.

"I, um... I'll try to be a little more mindful next time," he says, shoving his hands into his pockets, trying to be the bigger person here.

"Thank you," she says. "Sweaty locker room is not my go-to scent."

“Are you forgetting how we met?”

“I try to,” Tessa says. “Every day.”

Out the corner of his eye he sees Maddy glancing over at them, clearly concerned with the way their conversation was going. 

“What is with you today?” Scott mutters, when Maddy turns to the intern holding her schedule.

Tessa dusts the fake snow off her jeans, looking around distractedly.

“I’m fine,” she says, looking everywhere but at him.

Scott pulls a face but doesn’t see the point in arguing. They have one more spot to film and then he gets to spend the rest of the morning letting kids wrap him in tinsel. He’d even got the idea to let them hang a bauble or two over his ears and fingers, maybe wire him with fairy lights. Maddy had loved it, Tessa had looked like she wanted to dump a load of coal down his pants.

He glances at the crew who are packing up and getting ready to move the equipment and he figures he’s got a good couple of minutes before anybody comes looking for them. For the past year, ever since their relationship - well - almost relationship had crumbled into dust, Scott had tried to leave that bygone exactly where it was. Sure, it didn't help that they worked together now, but they both had their reasons for staying in this. Neither of them could afford to let petty arguments stew when there was so much at stake. So he follows her, finding her wandering through the labyrinth of bookshelves, her phone to her ear.

Probably talking to Nick the Dick, he thinks, and then winces. _That was childish, Moir._ Nick Wenner was an agent for some of the network staff and he’d hung around the set long enough to talk Tessa into dating him, although what he’d said to get her on board with that idea, he’ll never know. Scott had invited the guy out to a game a couple of months ago out of politeness. It was like talking to a sponge.

He turns a corner, heading past Birth and Babies before rounding the bend to Relationships and Self Help. He nods his head at the irony.

“Hey,” he says, watching her slip the phone into her back pocket.

“Hey,” she replies, her tone clearly suspicious.

He spreads his hands, palms up. “I come in peace.”

She snorts at that.

It’s dainty. And adorable. And he hates it.

Except he doesn't.

“I’m fine,” she says.

“Yeah… you look… fine,” Scott replies.

Tessa folds her arms across her chest, staring pointedly, and he has to rub the back of his hair as an excuse to break her gaze.

“Was that – uh – Nick?” he says, gesturing vaguely to her hip and wondering why he cares.

She glances behind her. “No.”

“Oh, thought it… might be.”

“Okay.”

Scott blows air through his lips. “Okay, then. Good talk.”

Tessa raises her eyebrows and walks by, giving him a wide berth.

“Well I guess you've _finally_ run out of words,” Scott says.

“Sorry?”

“A _parrot _would be more expressive.”

“What do you _want_, Scott?” she says.

He waves his arms at the shelves surrounding them. “I don't know... to buy you a dictionary.”

Tessa stares him down again, her hands settling neatly on her hips.

“Vexing,” she says.

“What?”

“_Exasperating_,” she continues. “Tiresome. _Annoying_. _Irritating_. Troublesome. Aggravating. _Rebarbative_. All things that you are. Would you like me to continue?”

“Is this foreplay?” Scott says. “Because if so, Nick’s one lucky guy.”

“Your sarcasm is noted.”

“Actually, how ‘bout I grab _him_ a dictionary instead? Probably needs it, right, to keep up with you?”

“I…”

He looks up from his mock search of the shelves and catches the shift in her eyes, the slight lowering of her jaw. He's upset her and suddenly, he hates himself for it.

“Nick and I are no longer seeing each other,” she says, squaring her shoulders in every attempt to set a brave face. “Not that it’s any of your business but since you obviously won’t let up.”

“Oh,” Scott says, aware of how stupid he sounds.

“_Now_ who needs a dictionary?”

She brushes past him, heading back towards the front of the store but away from the Grotto to avoid any early-morning crowds.

“Tess,” he says, racing to catch up with her. “Tess, damn it, would you wait up!”

She rounds on him, hands on hips and a fire in her eyes that reminds him a little of the day Kurt Browning and Ron MacLean had partnered them for _Battle of the Blades_. Except back then, it was because she was trying to mask her nerve - and the instant attraction between them - and _now_ it was because she probably wanted to kill him.

“What?” she says, teeth gritting together to control her irritation. She sets off again, rounding another line of shelves, not bothering to wait for the answer.

Scott pulls another face and follows, his own temper rising.

“Tess!” he says. His attempt at a whisper, making it sound more like a hiss. “I’m sorry, alright, I shouldn’t have butted in.”

She turns quickly, crashing into a display tree and reaching out quickly to steady it – and herself – a few of its decorations now rolling across the floor.

“And yet, of _course_, you did! Because God forbid you be able to set aside your own roaring ego and let it go for once."

“And now, _your sarcasm_ is noted,” he says, his annoyance rising. “Next time, I'll try not to care so much.”

He knew it would hit her, just as he knew she wouldn't take it lying down.

“Excuse me?” she says, stepping close enough for him to feel the heat of her anger. “When _exactly_, did you start giving a damn about anyone other than yourself in this partnership?”

“That’s not fair.”

“Really? _I’m_ not the one with a giant calendar in his dressing room crossing off the days.”

“Well, right now can you _blame_ me? Don't worry, Virtch, sixty-one to go and then you don’t have to pretend to laugh at my jokes anymore.”

She takes a step back, and there’s something in her expression he can’t make out. Or doesn’t want to.

Scott picks up a bauble and rolls it in his hand, thinking he better do something to defuse the situation before they bomb their next segment entirely.

“You dropped this,” he says, holding it out to her.

She takes it from him, watching it a moment, the way its pattern catches the light -

and then she chucks it at his head.

“You’re a real jerk, Moir.”

He fully expects her to walk away, wonders briefly why the turning of her head wasn’t followed by the rest of her body and he looks up again, thinking maybe she’s waiting for him to fight this. They were certainly overdue.

But she’s not looking at him. She’s looking over the shelves ahead of them. And beyond them, is a crowd. All of whom are aiming their smartphones in their direction.

Scott swallows.

“_Justin!_” comes Maddy’s strangled cry. “You’re gonna need to find me a coffee strong enough to alter the soil composition of small island!”

* * *

comments are ♥


	2. Your Presents Is Requested

_“Please tell me that was _not _my baby sister I just saw trending on Twitter.”_

Tessa puts a hand to her forehead and groans, while her body collapses against the kitchen counter. 

“How bad is it?”

_“Um…”_

“Oh God!”

_“I mean… I’ve seen worse.”_

“Okay… so that doesn't sound too -”

_“From toddlers.”_

“Jordan!”

_“I’m sorry! But _what_ were you thinking?”_

Tessa sets her phone on speaker, leaving her hands free to be suitably dramatic.

“I don’t know, I wasn’t!” she says. “It was already a rough morning, I’ve been trying to work through all the… Nick feelings these last couple of weeks and Scott was just…”

_“What?”_

“Just… so… Scott.”

_“Scott was Scott?”_ Jordan replies.

Tessa can see her sister’s part exasperated, part sympathetic expression in her mind’s eye.

_“Scott was Scott and this was new for you?”_

“No.”

_“Scott was Scott and you thought what the hell? Let’s go all out? Deck the Moirs with bells of holly?”_

“It was a bauble!” Tessa cries.

_“Really? Because I heard… hold on… Mom’s on the line.”_

“Oh great.”

_“I’m conferencing her in.”_

“No please don’t conf -”

_“Hi Mom,”_ Jordan says.

“Hi Mom,” Tessa says, feeling completely miserable.

_“Tessa says it was a bauble.” _

_“A bauble?”_ comes Kate Virtue’s bemused reply. _“I heard she stabbed him with an antler.”_

“I’m right here guys,” Tessa says. “And I did _not_ stab Scott with an antler.”

_“So, I take it you didn’t beat him over the head with a wreath either?” _her mother says.

Tessa rolls her eyes, forgetting that neither of them can see it.

“No,” she replies.

_“Or pushed him into the manger?” _Jordan says.

Sigh.

“No.”

_“Or tried to strangle him with tinsel?”_

“N… I… I didn’t _strangle_ him… I just… gagged him a little,” she says.

_“Oh,”_ Kate says. _“Well that’s alright then… as long as it was a little.”_

“The tinsel was part of the segment,” Tessa says, trying to squash her irritation while holding onto her last brain cell. She's well aware she'd let her mood take control of that one and she was hardly proud of it. “Do you honestly think I somehow managed to get one over on him and he just – what – stood there?”

_“I don’t know,”_ Jordan says, amusement creeping into her tone. _“Maybe he got down on the ground somehow… the bauble knocked him out maybe…”_

“The bauble did not knock him out, Jo! It bounced off his thick skull like everything else does.”

_“Girls,”_ Kate says.

_“Okay, but go with me,”_ Jordan says. _“He could have lost his balance -”_

“He did _not_ lose his balance.”

_“And then… when he was on the floor…”_

_“Girls!”_

“Jordan, he wasn’t anywhere near the floor!” Tessa says. “He’s a hockey guy! He has the muscle density of a baby Ox! Even if he was on the floor – which he _wasn’t_ – I would have had to straddle the guy before I could get anywhere near his -”

_“Ooh, straddle!”_ Jordan says, suddenly. _“Okay so here's a pitch for you..."_

_“Jordan,”_ Kate says, a groan to her voice.

_“What?”_ Jordan says. _“I’m just following Tessa’s lead. Clearly she’s been thinking about it and it wouldn't be the first time she and Scott have-"_

“Oh my God!” Tessa says.

_“Jordan, you’re not helping.”_

_“Sorry, Mom.”_

“Has anybody got some _actual_ advice here?” Tessa says.

_“Yes,”_ Kate says.

“Okay. What do I do?”

_“Shouldn’t that be _who_ do I do?” _

_“Goodbye Jordan!” _her mother says.

_“Bye!”_ Jordan says. _“Love you both. Don’t lob anyone else with pine cones until I get there!”_

_“Bring wine!”_ Tessa says.

_“Got a whole crate,”_ Jordan replies. _“Bye!”_

“Bye!”

_“Bye, hon_._”_

Tessa wonders how long it will take before –

_“Tess, what were you thinking?”_

And there it is.

“Mom, whatever you’ve heard, it’s probably over-exaggerated.”

_“There’s a video, sweetheart,”_ Kate says. _“Of you and Scott arguing.”_

Tessa leans on the kitchen counter, putting her head in her hands.

_“It looks bad.”_

She closes her eyes, knowing what it must have looked like to bystanders - and now, I guess - the Internet. There’d always been rumours about them, ever since they’d both signed on for _Battle of the Blades_ little more than a year ago. The homegrown darlings, decorated athletes, Scott the hockey player, Tessa the figure skater, a duo with an unmatched ability to rib each other every day and still look shockingly enamoured. It was enough for them to be given their own spot on _Good Morning Toronto_ where they could continue to steal hearts, the banter between the two of them seeming the most natural thing in the world. To everybody else there was nowhere they’d rather be than joking with and smiling at each other on top of that big grey sofa.

But the truth cuts a little deeper than that. And the rumours are just that.

At least… they are now.

_“Tess? Tess are you listening to me?”_

“Yeah,” she replies, shaking off the sudden detour in her thoughts. “Sorry.”

_“Are you in trouble?”_ her mother says.

Tessa exhales loudly.

“I have a meeting tomorrow at the studio. Full board. Scott too.”

_“Well,”_ Kate says. _“At least you’ll have each other.”_

She can’t prevent the sound escaping her throat.

“Sure,” she says.

_“I mean it, Tess. He knew the rules as well as you did, as insane as they are. You’re in hot water together, whether you like it or not.”_

“Do me a favour Mom?”

_“What’s that?”_

“Do _not_ give Jordan that mental image.”

Her mother’s soft laughter warms her instantly.

_“Okay, so if your meeting’s tomorrow, do you need me to -”_

“Yeah,” Tessa says. “If that’s okay?”

_“Of course!”_ Kate replies. _“Just let me know when.”_

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Are you going skating before Jordan gets there?”

“Um… you know… I think I may just be seeing the value of a cozy night in.”

_“Love you baby girl.”_

“Love you too.”

_“Try and get some sleep.”_

Tessa ends the call and collapses onto the couch, rubbing at her eyes. How could she have let this happen? She _knows_ Scott. Knows him better, in some weird cosmic kind of way, than anyone she's ever met, with the exception of maybe her mother and her sister. There's absolutely no way she should have fallen apart like she did today - and yet - here she was staring down the horns of her catastrophic mistake. Being at odds with Scott was not new to her, this had been their life ever since they'd started at the network, and as the year wore on they just sort of... learned to work around it.

And they were good at that. They were good at their job and people seemed to love them for it. On television - they loved each other.

They just... struggled to like each other outside of that.

She sighs, wondering if somewhere along the way, she should have been the bigger person or at least... opened up a conversation that let them deal with the fact they both clearly resent each other. But what does it matter now? There were bigger things at stake here, and telling Scott Moir that she'd accidentally fallen in love with him, when she'd clearly only ever been a passing fling to him, was not on the list of things she wanted to do before she moved on from the show. She had much bigger things to focus on now.

And there weren’t enough hours left in the day to help her figure out how not to ruin the rest of her life.

* * *

It’s like being in the Principal’s office – a place Scott has… some… experience with – and yet, this feels so much worse that the combined sum of his teenage transgressions.

He’s in a boardroom, somewhere in the heights of CBC studios, head resting back against his seat, eyes on the ceiling, looking anywhere but into the piercing gaze of Catherine Tait.

Fortunately for him she’s not looking his way just yet, which buys him a few more minutes to check any untoward insubordination at the door.

One of the board executives clears his throat, before contributing to the low murmurings of conversation across the conference table. Scott tunes it out, rocking in his chair and working his mouth from side to side, getting ready to bring his game face.

Tess is a statue beside him, her eyes wide and bright, eight shallow breaths for every long exhalation of bottled panic. Clearly, unlike him, she’d never been to the Principal’s office.

Arriving minutes after he did, he wonders why she chose to sit next to him. Solidarity? Sure, I guess, if exploding particles is what you value in your cohesion. Maybe it’s just the devil you know. Not that Tess is the devil, it’s just, their routine is safe, always the same. You give, I take, then I give, you take, round and round and round we go until we can get off this train wreck of a partnership -

She knocks his chair with her foot, and he crashes back down, game face lost as gravity kicks in and his stomach does a somersault. He glances at her, dumbfounded, and sees the wince in her expression before she shuts her eyes. He's not sure she meant to cause a commotion.

“_As_ I was saying,” Catherine says, giving them the eye and reminding everyone in the room just who was boss. “Shall we begin?”

"Sorry," Tessa whispers, and he has no idea if she's talking about now or yesterday.

He can feel a brush against his arm, the brief contact of her little finger against his.

Okay, he thinks. Solidarity it is.

“Hashtag!” Catherine says, looking down at the piece of paper in front of her. “Morning has broken.”

To their left, Maddy makes a face behind her hand and Scott’s pretty damn sure she’s biting on a smile. 

“Hashtag!” Catherine says again. “Have yourself a moiry little deckmas.”

Scott looks across the table and catches Brian’s eye, before the studio exec tucks his chin into his shirt, forcing his head into a bobbing motion, no doubt to hide the rise and fall of his shoulders.

“Hashtag! - slayride. YAAAAAS QUEEN. Wreck those halls. Space. Heart eyes emoji. Space. Tears of joy emoji. Space. Clap hands emoji. Space. Biceps emoji.”

Scott has no idea what any of that means, so he looks to Clara, Catherine’s right-hand scowl, who is ignoring everyone and furiously typing the minutes, no doubt pissed to be here on her day off.

He glances at Maddy again, whose eyes are dangerously bright, and then at Tessa, whose embarrassment has already gone straight to her cheeks and brought out every single one of her freckles.

It’s very distracting.

“Hashtag!” Catherine says, and he jumps in his seat, causing Tessa to turn her head and wonder what the hell was wrong with him. “Jingle Bell Shock. Virtue and Moir’s partnership… a fake out?”

She looks at them both just then, the weight of her expression trying to convey that she does not appreciate the mess.

“Do you remember what we agreed, Tessa? Scott?”

Scott remembers alright.

“Yes,” Tessa says.

She looks miserable.

“Scott?”

“Yeah,” he says, with just enough irritation to let them know what he thinks of it. “I remember.”

“Three-hundred and sixty-five days,” Catherine continues, as if he hadn’t spoken. “Three-hundred and sixty-five days and you both get your own shows. No upsets, no scandals, no breaking of the status quo. Bring your chemistry to the couch, give me my ratings, and leave your baggage at the door. You banter, you flirt, you give the people their daily bread and you never, _ever_ let the public know your personal demons. You want to hate each other? Fine! Let off some steam? Do it in your dressing rooms, that’s why you’ve got them. But _don’t_ give me a PR nightmare four weeks before Christmas!”

There’s a ringing in Scott’s ears, that he’s pretty sure wasn’t there earlier and he’s trying to decide if this is better or worse than the time his mom chewed him out because he and his brothers duct-taped their cousin to a chair.

“For God’s sake,” Maddy says. “Is it really that bad? They've got shitty cellphone footage, the audio isn't great, unless you're a huge fan of Michael Bublé, I mean, there's barely a story here.”

“Peter!” Catherine says.

Peter Wilson – PR wizard and social media consultant – looks up from his iPad for the first time all meeting, and grunts.

“There, you see,” Catherine says.

“No,” Scott replies.

Catherine waves her hand at the wall-mounted television screen.

“Peter if you will.”

Scott watches while the guy hits a key on a laptop, waving his own hand back to the screen before his eyes drift back to his tablet.

“_Oh my God_,” Maddy says, her face finally cracking.

Scott follows her gaze and finds himself staring at a continuous loop of Tessa lobbing the bauble into his face. A very unflattering sound escapes his nose.

“Are you… laughing?” Catherine says. “Do you find this funny?”

“I mean,” Scott replies, following suit and waving his hand in the air. “If anything, it’s a great throw.”

There’s a tiny, encouraging snort beside him and he finds himself grinning.

“Do you have any idea how many times this… gif. has been shared?” Catherine says.

Scott risks a glance at Tessa and cocks his head.

“I’m gonna say a lot, you?”

Tessa rolls her eyes at him but there’s a definite curve in her lips that suggests she's willing to play along for the sake of mutual dislike for their boss.

“When you die,” she says, nodding towards the image onscreen. “This goes on your gravestone.”

“And you’ll be there, right?”

“With a shovel.”

“See,” Maddy says, throwing her arms towards them. “Look at them, they can fix this. By Monday, it’ll be yesterday’s news.”

Catherine folds her arms.

“Peter.”

Peter, of the long suffering, sighs and hits another tab.

It’s a picture of Scott lying on the floor of the grotto, Tessa on top, limbs tangled with his. Beside it, a screenshot of what is very clearly them arguing by the bookshelves. And below that, a picture of Oprah Winfrey asking for the truth.

“When our audience tunes in on Monday, _that_,” Catherine says, “is what people are going to be looking for. Your authenticity. And unless you can provide that, I don’t want you showing up for work at all.”

Tessa swallows, clearly uncomfortable.

“Catherine,” she says. “We can fix this. Just let us try.”

“How?” Catherine says. “Are you going to walk in on Monday wearing your _Bonlook_ glasses and claim it was your alter-ego? Should we call you ‘Mess’ instead of Tess?”

Scott bristles. “Hang on a sec -”

“Catherine,” Maddy says, firing a warning look across the table to let Scott know she’s got this. “Obviously tensions are high and _obviously _we all want what’s best for the network and what’s best for the show. Tessa and Scott both know the stakes here. It’s in their best interests to fix it _and_ as their producer, it’s mine too, and I _know_… that they both care enough to try. Let them try.”

Scott looks down to find Tessa holding onto his arm, he’s not even sure she’s aware of it but he knows that if Maddy hadn’t interrupted, and he’d lost his cool, she would likely have ripped it out the socket.

“Okay,” Catherine says. “What’s the plan?”

Tessa leans in, just as the table erupts with conversation.

“You don't have to defend me,” she says.

“_That _doesn’t bother you?” he replies.

“Of course, it does but… they go low, you go high.”

"Okay, but, the irony of you saying that is -"

"I... know," she says. "We're not always the best example of that when it comes to each other."

He's surprised by her honesty, and it sparks a strange kind of loyalty inside him. He may have a hard time getting along with her outside the show but he's protective of the fact that they're good at what they do and that they work damn hard to produce a great show. If neither one of them had had the clout they did when they both came on board, this network would still have whatever mediocre morning garbage had come before it. They blew ratings out of the water and sure as hell doesn't appreciate anybody making light of that.

“Okay," he says. "How ‘bout _you_ go high when they go low, I’ll whack ‘em with a candy cane when they’re not looking?”

Tessa laughs softly and Scott smiles, pleased with himself. He thinks, while they’re stuck here of course, that he’d like to hear it again. Digging his phone out of his pocket, he swipes up with his thumb - he can feel her watching him out the corner of her eyes. Scott slides the phone over in her direction so that it sits between them – it’s open on one of probably a dozen screenshots taken of their spat. One where they’re both looking particularly frosty.

“Personally,” he says. “I would have gone with hashtag baby it’s cold outside.”

“Shh,” Maddy whispers. “Pay attention you two.”

“Why?” Scott says. “They don’t want our opinion.”

Maddy gives him a look. “Because there’s a quiz after.”

“Then I don’t need to pay attention,” Scott says, cocking his head. “I’ll just copy Tess.”

Maddy looks up at the ceiling for strength.

Tessa leans in again, and he’s a little more conscious of the effect it has on him. It’s comforting somehow – which is strange because, if anything she'd been right in his assessment, he had been counting down the days until he didn’t have to work with her anymore.

“Hashtag hit me baby one more time, would have been better,” she says.

“Ah, but not filled with the light of a good Christmas pun,” he replies.

“True. Best out of two?”

“Of course.”

“How about... God Deck Ye Moiry Gentleman?”

Scott barks a laugh that has the whole table staring at him.

“Something you wish to share with the class there, Scott?” Catherine says.

Scott looks at Tessa, but she’s conveniently leaning toward Maddy, one finger posed suspiciously on a piece of paper.

“No Ma’am,” he says, knocking Tessa’s foot with his own before whispering. “That page is upside down.”

There’s a small smile on her lips as she turns the paper slowly and leans back into her chair. He thinks this is the most genuine they’ve been with each other in a long time, and it reminds him that they weren't always the way they are now.

Fifteen minutes later and a few more puns either side, Scott starts to wonder if all this really needs is an apology. He can be that guy here, it’s not going to hurt his ego and as much as they drive each other crazy, he knows that Tess isn’t going to shy away from it either. They’d worked on _Battle of the Blades_ together, they’d seen other teams yelling at each other or groaning about their partners in the locker room. They’d both agreed that anything they wanted to say about their partnership, was between them and them alone. It’s funny thinking about it, back then they were all over each other to apologize for a wrong turn, or a wayward toe pick. They’d actually been really good at communicating with one another. The fact that it was so hard for them now was telling. And the truth is, there was nothing about their relationship that resembled where it began. And for Scott, well, that beginning was something he thinks never really left him.

“Tess?” he says, watching her turn toward him. “About yesterday… I just wanted to say I’m -”

“Got it!” Peter says, waving his iPad around like a town crier.

“Got what?” Maddy says.

“Deflection.”

“Isn’t that a band?” Scott murmurs. Tessa shushes him.

“Okay, so there’s this kid, right? She wrote a letter and she’s gotten huge – and I mean _huge_ – numbers online. Started on Twitter but I’m tracking the video to Tumblr, Facebook and Instagram.”

“A viral video?” Catherine says. “_That’s_ what’s going to save this network?”

Scott rolls his eyes and mouths “network?”

Tessa elbows him in the side.

“Like I said, eh,” Peter says, “deflection. You want people to forget something bad? You show them something good.”

“What’s the video?” Maddy asks.

“Little girl… wants a dad… for Christmas,” Peter says, his eyes suspiciously wet.

Tessa and Scott exchange glances.

“Look, she’s endearing, funny, and more than anything in the world she just wants her mom to find someone to love.”

“Aw,” Clara sighs, startling everyone around the room.

“She’s local,” Peter continues. “So, she appeals to our demographic. I think there’s a story here and y’know, it’s Christmas, people love that feel-good crap.”

Tessa leans in. “What do you think?”

“I think we’re gonna be stuck finding this kid’s mom a date,” Scott replies.

“Well, it’s a little more complicated than that,” Brian says, having relieved Peter of his iPad. “We don’t know who this kid is or where exactly she is.”

“I don’t get it,” Maddy says. “You just said there was a video.”

“There is,” Peter says. “You hear her voice when she’s reading the letter, but we don’t see her face.”

Catherine rolls her eyes.

“So, the world has been taken in by a blank screen and a disembodied voice?” she says. “Society really is dumbing down, isn't it?”

Brian, who is completely immune to Catherine’s cynicism, turns the iPad toward her.

“It’s actually pretty clever,” he says. “She’s edited it herself, using cropped pictures of all the things she and her mother like to do – they’re clearly real so it gives a sense of authenticity – and then she’s interspersed that with… I don’t know, I guess pictures she’s found online of fathers with their kids. People are already replying to her on Twitter. It’s sweet, it’s feel good.”

“It’s ridiculous,” Catherine says.

The rest of the table looks around uncomfortably.

“What good is a kid we can’t even see?”

“Maybe it’s not about seeing,” Tessa says. “I mean, clearly her message has touched others. What is it she’s actually asking for?

“It’s easier if I show you,” Peter says. “But the bottom line is she wants help figuring out what makes a good father.”

“And the somewhat confined deadline of needing an answer before Christmas,” Brian adds.

“And that’s where we’ll come in,” Catherine says, looking over Peter’s shoulder.

“You_ just_ said you hated the idea,” Maddy says.

“Oh, I do,” Catherine replies, spreading her arms in the air. “I don’t give a damn about this sentimental crap, plenty of children get by just fine with just one parent, but it _has_ given me an idea. _You two_ are going to help this child by staging a little showcase. We’ll name it after this child's letter, call it _Beating Christmas._”

Both Tessa and Scott snort.

“Preferably not with a bauble,” Scott says.

“Toronto’s _favourite_ co-hosts, _united_ again, _working _together to make a little girl’s Christmas wish come true,” Catherine continues. “By showcasing the trials and tribulations of the modern single woman, trying to beat the odds and find a good man.”

“Isn’t that a little…”

“_What_, Tess?”

“I don’t know,” Tessa replies. “Disingenuous? Meddlesome? Inappropriate?”

“Let’s put it this way then,” Catherine says. “You two have until Christmas Eve to show me, our sponsors, and the rest of the city that you still deserve to be on the air. This is your shot. Blow it, and our agreement about your futures _after_ Good Morning Toronto goes down the toilet, along with your careers.”

Scott looks to Tessa and shrugs.

“Beating Christmas,” he says, without an ounce of enthusiasm. “We love it.”

“Peter,” Catherine says. “Get the video up on the screen so everybody can see what we’re working with.”

Scott wastes no time, leaning so far in, his chin is practically resting on Tessa’s shoulder.

“This is a ridiculous idea, right?” he says, completely ignoring the television.

_“...My mom is the best at it.She’s also the best at other things too – like being a person..."_

  
“Oh yeah,” she replies. “We’re totally getting fired.”

_"...My Mom talks a lot but don’t worry… that’s just her job..."_

“And like - what?” he continues. “All of this is going to find this girl a dad? By Christmas?”

“It takes longer to buy a pair of shoes,” Tessa says. “Let alone choose a guy to spend the rest of your life with.”

Maddy’s arm drops quietly on the table in front of them, trying to shush them.

Scott raises his eyebrows and turns to pay attention.  
  


_“…my mom deserves all the love that there is in the world. She works so hard and she does a lot for me and a lot for other people who don’t have as much and who don’t have the same opportunities that we do. I just want someone to love her as much as I do. To spoil her on her birthday, watch old movies with at night-time because I have to go to bed… and maybe to flip the pancakes over when she’s forgotten she was making them. I want someone to make her feel special._

_And I… I’d really like a dad. Not just to talk about wrenches and light bulbs and bacon and stuff but… to talk about real things too. Dad things...”  
  
_

“That're really sweet,” someone says.

“We’ve gotta find this girl a father if it’s the last thing we do…”

“We’ll need a list of eligible bachelors, handsome enough for television but throw in a few unassuming intellectuals for a little realism,” Catherine was saying.  
  


_“...So, I’m turning to you… people of the Internet… for help...”_

  
“I would give my life for this child…”  
  
“So precious…”

  
_“...Please help me find a dad this holiday season and please help me to also understand what makes your dads so special...”_

Scott finally blinks, tearing his eyes away from the two pairs of figure skates in the video frame and the set of sky-blue sparkly soakers encasing one set of blades.

“Uh, Virtch? Correct me if I'm wrong,” he says, leaning into her once more. “But aren’t those… _your_... kid’s skates?”

Tessa drags her eyes to meet his, her mouth a perfect 'o'.

“_P.S. must be a Leafs fan.”_

“_Ohhhh,_ yeah,” she replies.  
  


* * *

comments are ♥


	3. Yule Be Sorry

Olivia Virtue rolls off the sofa, careful not to disturb her – now – sleeping grandmother and tiptoes over to the dining room table, lifting the lid on her mother’s laptop.

It’s on, but the screen greets her with a large picture of the two of them, as well as a blank box and a cursor.

She wrinkles her nose and casts a look behind her.

She’s not really supposed to use the laptop without permission, but she can’t exactly retrieve her tablet from the folds of her grandmother’s arms without waking her.

_Sigh._

She should never have mentioned the fainting goats, but what else do you do when you’re caught red-handed long after screen-time had ended? For Liv, there was only one thing _to_ do -

Lie.

The feeling of guilt gnaws at her tummy but it’s not exactly like she could reveal the real reason she needed to get on the Internet so desperately. Not _yet_, anyway. It just needed a chance. But when she’d seized the moment, checking on the video while her grandmother was in the bathroom, she’d got excited by the views. She hadn’t realized how long she’d been staring until a quiet cough from the doorway. So, she’d had to exit quickly, and pretend about the goats.

Kate Virtue had laughed and stroked her head at the earnest, wide-eyed apology, flopping down onto the sofa and proceeding to type in the search so they could watch it together.

It was easy to lie when nobody expects you to.

She stares at the cursor, then down to the keyboard.

_Just a little more time… and then I’ll tell them everything, I promise!_

She knows the password – her mom trusts her.

_So why does my stomach feel funny?_

She types it in - m a h l e r S 5 – and wonders why anyone would have a password named after a tooth, as the screen comes to life.

Opening the browser, she navigates her way to Aunt Jeje’s account and smiles in delight, watching the viewing numbers tick over. Balling her fists and jumping on the spot, she shakes her little head in excitement.

“I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it! It’s happening! It’s happening!”

_“Liv?”_

“Uh…”

She slams the lid of the laptop and races back to the living room.

“Coming Grandma, did you have a nice nap?”

“Sorry, bug, I’m not even sure how I feel asleep!”

“That’s okay,” Olivia replies. “I kept myself busy.”

“You said something’s happening, what’s happening? Is everything alright?”

“Oh… um… just… uh… Christmas! I can’t believe it! I can’t believe it!”

Her grandmother eyes her strangely.

“Well, yes, sweetheart, it happens every year.”

“Yeah, but… _this _one’s going to be extra special. I can feel it.”

Kate gives her a squeeze.

“Let’s get you in the bath and into some jammies, okay? Your mom will be home soon and you’ll be able to tell her all the good things you’ve been up to today and she can let Santa know you’ve definitely earned those presents this year.”

“_Grandma_,” Olivia says, with an air of practiced patience. “I know Santa Claus is not really… you know… _real_.” She whispers that last part… just in case. “But sometimes I still like to pretend.”

“Ah, keeps you out of mischief I expect?”

“Grandma! It’s _me_.”

“Of course, silly me, what was I thinking? Never!”

“Never!”

She giggles, her face flushed with warmth and excitement.

“You start the water, Livvie, and I’ll find your pyjamas. Hey, you know, I saw a shirt in The Bay that said ‘on the naughty list’, what do you think, should I get it?”

Olivia pops her head around the bathroom door.

“For you or for me?”

Her grandmother laughs. “Oh, definitely me,” she says. “You could never.”

Olivia giggles again. “You should get it for Mom as a joke. It’ll crack her up.”

“Good idea,” Kate replies. “We can get it tomorrow when we head out to meet the _Frozen _characters. Now get in that tub before _I_ get into trouble.”

Olivia does as she’s asked, hitting the jets on for good measure and slapping at the bubbles.

_This is great_.

Soon her mom would be home and she’d be diving into that familiar place between her arms. Then they’d have dinner and maybe play a game, tomorrow they’d go skating and _then_, after, they’d sit on the boards together, arm in arm, laughing at the hockey boys who fall over trying to do tricks, they’d go to the mall, then get a tree and after that - she could break the news. The most wonderful news! The most perfect beyond perfect of plans!

“_It’ll be great, Mom_,” she says, resting her head back against the tub. “_You’re_ getting a husband, _I’m_ getting a dad. If Santa _were_ real, I’d be _guaranteed_ on the nice list _forever_. Olivia Virtue, you are a genius!”

Olivia Virtue was also in a lot of trouble, she just didn’t know it yet.

* * *

Tessa turns the key in the lock and takes a deep breath before opening her front door. She shimmies out of her coat, letting her purse drop to the floor beside her, and tries to think of a mature, adult way to handle this that doesn’t involve the need to scream into a void.

“You’re home!” Kate says, coming out the laundry room with a bunch of clean towels. “I did a load for you, I’ll just put them away.”

Tessa knows she should say thank you, but her mouth keeps opening and closing like a goldfish, too tired and confused to respond.

“How did it go?” her mother whispers, checking behind her to make sure Liv wasn’t around to overhear. “Tess?”

Tessa hands over her cellphone, mutely, walks over to the kitchen, and tips the remaining contents of last night’s wine into a glass. She takes a large sip, and closes her eyes, very aware that her hand is shaking.

“Oh honey,” Kate says, looking up from the phone.

Tessa waits while she plays the entire clip. Out the corner of her eye, she can see her mother moving a hand from her belly to her mouth and then to her chest. She looks over – somewhere in between light bulbs and helping Santa – her expression lodged with sympathy, and something a little like pain.

“How?” Kate says.

“I don’t know,” Tessa says, her jaw so tense she can feel it rumbling in her ears. “It’s Jordan’s account, but, I mean she had no idea, you know she never uses the thing.”

“Maybe…” Kate says. “Maybe it’ll be okay. I mean, I know it’s had a lot of hits – my God that really is a lot – but… let’s look on the bright side.”

“There’s a bright side?”

“Nobody who has seen this is going to know that this letter was written by your daughter. This could be anyone.”

Tessa tilts her head to one side.

“Sure,” she says. “So all I have to deal with now is the fact that I have a child who is no longer satisfied with just the one parent, and a boss who wants to my child and set her mother up with every single guy in the greater Toronto area.”

“Oh, I see.”

“You see.”

“I see.”

“And hey, guess what? To top it all off, good ol’ _Scott_, gets to be the judge, jury, and executioner.

“Oh dear,” Kate replies.  
  


* * *

  
She wraps her knuckles on Olivia’s bedroom door.

“Hey, Mom.”

“Hi, bean,” Tessa says, the knot between her shoulders pulsing with confusion the minute she looks at her daughter’s bright, hopeful face.

“I didn’t hear you come in, is Grandma still here? I want to show her my drawing.” She holds up the piece of paper. “It’s good eh? I put Grandma on the naughty list.”

Tessa smiles but she’s so tired and it feels lukewarm. “No, Grandma’s gone home.”

“That’s okay, I’ll show her later,” Olivia says. “It’s just a joke, see? Grandma was teasing about me getting up to mischief and there was this shirt and then we said ‘_never_!’ and I… anyway I think you had to be there.”

Tessa nods slowly, sitting down on the bed and rubbing two fingers against her temple.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

“Olivia, honey, we need to talk about what you did today,” Tessa says, reaching out a hand and placing it on her daughter’s knee.

“You mean, how I finished boxing all the things I want to donate?” she replies, frowning at her mother’s gentle head shake. “Found all the cookie cutters early this year so we can burn the first batch and still have time to make more? Helped… Grandma with the laundry?”

“No, Liv,” Tessa says. “We need to talk about _this_.”

She holds out her phone, the screen paused on a shot of Olivia’s video – the shot of their skates - just below the bold title “Help Wanted: A Dad for Christmas.”

“Oh.”

Her “oh”, is accompanied by a half-dozen micro-expressions that Tessa recognizes well, the “what have I done?” of it all pooling in her eyes, sandwiched between uncertainty and shock.

Then: “Oh! Oh no! You weren’t supposed to see that yet! It was going to be a surprise.”

“A surprise,” Tessa says, the pressure between her ears starting to break dance.

“Yes!” Olivia replies. “I was going to tell you tonight that I’ve been working on a super secret project but we had to wait until tomorrow and then we’d have breakfast and we were going to go to the rink and eat fries and then…”

She frowns, not understanding her mother’s lack of enthusiasm.

“So, you came up with a super secret project,” Tessa says.

“Yeah.”

“That you then put on the Internet?”

“Well… I needed their help, see? I -”

“Using JeJe’s account, that you did not ask permission to use?”

“I… I knew she never uses it.”

“So, that makes it okay to go behind her back… and mine?”

“Well I… I w...wanted… it to be a sur…p p p...prise.”

Her daughter’s eyes are already damp, and Tessa feels a weight in her chest that’s difficult to ignore. She’s hungry and tired, she’s had an emotional few days and now, not only does the entire country think she’s a decoration-wielding banshee, but apparently she’s also a bad mom who lets her eight-year-old post videos online about what a terrible parent she is! I mean, she must be, right? Why else would her own child be looking for another one?

“Are you… mad?” Olivia says.

Tessa rubs a hand across her eyes.

“Olivia, you should not have done that.”

She can sense her daughter searching her expression, as if it’s a cosmic joke and she’ll yell “Gotcha!” any minute now and then they’ll giggle and tickle each other till they’re both gasping for air.

“But… but why?” Olivia replies, her lower lip beginning to wobble.

“Because, Liv, it makes my job so much harder,” Tessa says. “How would you feel if somebody posted things about you online, without talking to you about them first?”

“But I didn’t post _bad_ things! I posted _good_ things! I talked about how nice you were! How funny you were! I talked about what a great mother you are!”

“But sweetheart, you also said I make terrible relationship decisions and that you needed help to fix that. Saying things like that can really hurt someone.”

“But it _won’t_ hurt you if we can just find the right guy!” Olivia says, her fists beginning to ball. “And nobody knows it was you! He’s out there, Mom! And either you’re working or we’re skating or doing something at school and _when_ are you gonna get the time to find someone who doesn’t slurp his cereal or dig the wax out of his ears with a _pencil_?”

Tessa pulls a face, simultaneously disgusted and curious. Had Nick done those things? Somebody else? There wasn’t exactly a long list of options in the _who_ of it all.

“I don’t know if you know this, Mom,” Olivia continues, putting a hand on her mother’s shoulder. “But boys can be gross. I once saw a group of them at the rink, clipping their toenails by the boards because they couldn’t get their _skates_ on. One of them, was using his teeth! Then they just left it all there on the mat! On the _mat_, Mom. So, the way I see it, if it’s just the two of us doing the searching, it’ll take forever to find a good one. But _now_ we’ll have it done in no time.”

Tessa doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Honey, I understand -”

“No, you don’t!” Olivia says. “That’s just what grownups say before they go ‘no’.”

“Liv,” Tessa says, putting a hand on her daughter’s foot. “You have had your turn to talk, now it’s mine.”

“But -”

“Liv.”

“I didn’t mean to do anything wrong!”

“_Olivia_.”

She huffs in response but follows it with a nod.

“I understand… that this was important to you,” Tessa says. “And I understand that you had… the best of intentions. But finding the right person to spend the rest of your life with, is personal. I know I’m on TV every morning and I know I have very public commitments, but that does not mean that I want my entire life to be for everyone else’s entertainment.”

“But nobody -”

“Liv.”

Olivia stares into her lap.

“Honey, do you know what privacy means?”

She nods.

“Well, what you did makes the life outside my work very… _un_… private. I may want or feel certain things but those are not necessarily things that I want other people to hear or see. If I have a problem, I don’t tell the Internet, I tell a friend. I ask for their advice. If I need to work out how to do something, I research it. If I’m angry I -”

“Yell at him in a bookstore?”

Tessa closes her eyes. “How did you know?”

“I… I heard you and JeJe last night… I was…”

“Snooping?”

Olivia makes a face. “I just wanted to help!”

“By snooping?”

“No!” Olivia says. “I already had the idea! I had everything ready and when I saw how sad you were last night, I thought it was the perfect time to make things right! Now we can just tell everyone you _weren’t _mad at Scott. You were just upset because you don’t have a husband!”

Tessa thinks she’d rather everyone else _did_ think she was mad at Scott.

“Liv,” she says, still trying to digest it all, still trying to work out how to handle the nightmare of a public image crisis she had gotten herself into, while keeping her daughter out of it. “I can’t… I can’t give you what you want for Christmas.”

And then her daughter’s tears begin to fall.

“But… _why_?”

“It’s hard for me to explain -”

“No, it’s not! You’re just saying that!”

“Olivia that’s enough.”

“I want a _dad_!”

Tessa feels that anvil hit her square in the chest, her frustration over today competing with Olivia’s sudden need for a father. They have no secrets between them in that regard – it’s always been the two of them and Olivia knows why. And even though she thought the day might come when her daughter might challenge the status quo, Tessa finds it hurts all the same.

Olivia throws herself onto her pillow, her face buried in her hands.

“I want a dad,” she says again, her little shoulders shaking.

Tessa does the only thing she can think of to do and lies down beside her, stroking her daughter’s hair and tucking her in tight, listening to the little sniffs between raspy breaths.

Eventually, Olivia rolls over, blotchy eyes and tear-stained cheeks causing Tessa’s heart to ache.

“Am I going to be punished?” she asks, quietly.

“Punished is a strong word, bug,” Tessa says, using her thumb to wipe the tears. “Consequences is a better one. You know how Scott and I got angry with each other after the show yesterday?”

Olivia nods and sniffs.

“Well, other people saw that, they put it on the Internet and now I have to face the consequences for _that_.”

“What are the consequences going to be?”

“Well… I don’t know that just yet,” Tessa replies. She can’t exactly tell her daughter that rectifying the situation would require taking advantage of Olivia’s spectacularly-timed Christmas wish. “I might have to leave my job.”

“You mean… be fired?” Olivia bolts upright. “But that’s totally unfair! You weren’t the one who filmed it and put on the Internet for everyone to see! Last week, Sophie Heaton said that pineapple was the best thing on a pizza, and I disagreed that’s disgusting but then Amelia Thomas said that she puts corn – corn! – on her pizza and I was thinking I’d rather eat feet! But then Sophie told Amelia that she was _wrong_ because _she_ was right and when the planet runs out of pepperoni and chicken and stuff we’ll _all_ be looking to the pineapple like it’s gonna save us and I kept thinking, if there’s _ever_ a day where _pineapple_ is the _last_ thing I can have to put on a pizza - just kill me. So, we argued about that, but I’d never put it on the Internet – _oh_.”

Tessa watches the light turn on behind her daughter’s eyes.

“Except… I did… didn’t I?” she says. “When I wrote that letter.” Olivia releases a big sigh and stretches out her arms. “Lock me up officer.”

Tessa laughs. “Come here,” she says, grabbing hold of Olivia and pulling her into her side, then wrapping her arms around her middle. “Yes, there will be consequences.”

“Like?”

“Like… no more screen time and no using my laptop, you’ll have to earn those privileges back.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

“You can’t go shopping with Grandma tomorrow, you’ll have to stay with me at the rink while I finish up.”

“But Mom, there’s a whole _Frozen_ thing! Elsa and Anna are going to be there!” Olivia says. “It’s the last week, I won’t get to see them!”

Tessa cocks her head and nods in sympathy.

“Consequences,” she says, fighting against the urge to give in to her child’s wide-set puppy-dog eyes.

Olivia sighs. “I hate consequences,” she says.

“You and me both, kiddo,” Tessa replies. “You and me both.”  
  


* * *

comments are ♥


	4. Sprucing Things Up

Scott dumps a bag full of gear on the floor of the rink and heads over to the coffee machine. He grabs a cup, sticks it under the dispenser, and waits for it to fill with something that looks more like bathwater than anything he should be drinking. The clock on the wall reads 9:48 – he’s early. He could head back to the Range Rover, grab the dozen or so hockey sticks he’d planned to donate to the local club alongside the gear – _or _he could just sit down and let his muscles back off from the tedious task of keeping him upright.

After yesterday’s disastrous meeting, Scott had spent a good couple of hours in the gym trying to outrun his problems. How the fuck he was supposed to get through this was anybody’s guess. And what kind of unholy pressure cooker had his head become? Sure, he and Tess have their differences and yeah, okay, so maybe they’ve never had the greatest working relationship. But the stress on both of them has always been intense – what could you expect when your future dreams continue to ride on the success of your ruse? And the closer they got to the finish line… well… the harder it was. So, what if sometimes they had to let off a little steam? It’s normal, right? Who hasn’t offered their business partner a cookie made with salt, instead of sugar, and then watched them eat it live on air?

He grins, remembering the exact moment she’d registered it, her eyes startled by the sudden assault on her taste buds, before composure set in and she’d swallowed the bite, smiling afterward as if it were the most delicious experience in the world. His mother had called it ‘mean’ - his brothers had called it ‘hilarious’. A few days later, he’d caught her coming out of his dressing room looking suspiciously like the cat who got the cream… he was still looking for the source of whatever the hell she’d booby-trapped.

So, yeah, they got on each other’s nerves, played the occasional prank, made tongue-in-cheek comments about the other’s character and _yes_, _sometimes_ it got heated, stepped over a line, but _never_ in front of people and certainly not in a crowded mall with cameras trained on them.

Dammit, he’d screwed up. Well, in truth, he'd screwed up a long time ago - ever since he'd decided that this would be the best way to handle his working relationship. And now he had a hard puck to pass.

Scott shakes his head and walks back to the gear, looking for a safe place to dump it while he grabs the sticks. There aren’t a lot of people about – just small groups of parents, grandparents, and siblings clustered in the stands, waiting for their kids to finish their lessons. The ice is scattered with coaches and young skaters, with a barricade at the far quarter for a larger group of beginners.

He’d probably be okay leaving the bag where it is, but he doesn’t want to risk it. Casting his eyes ‘round for a space not too conspicuous, he spots the bench area normally reserved for club hockey skaters and heads on over. There’s a kid inside, resting her elbows on the boards, but he figures she’s not going to take off with a bunch of knee pads and groin guards. Scott leans over the wall and throws the bag down, before swinging his legs over and setting down the other side.

“Don’t mind me,” Scott says, bending over and sliding the bag into a better position.

Out the corner of his eyes he sees a pair of shoulders turning towards him, the swish-swash of a ponytail trying to figure out where the voice was coming from.

“I’m just leaving this here for a buddy, okay? And I’ll be back in a sec.”

“_Scott Moir_.”

It wasn’t a question.

He looks up to find Olivia Virtue staring back at him, her gaze pleasantly curious.

“It’s Oliver, right?” he says, pressing a finger to his nose and pretending to frown. “Like the Green Arrow?”

She rolls her eyes and folds her arms – both gestures reminding him of her mother.

“Try again,” she replies.

He grins and she wrinkles her nose like she’s trying to suppress a smile.

“How’re you doing, Liv?”

“I’m good.”

“You know you’re not supposed to sit here, eh?” Scott says, jerking his thumb at the wall. “There’s a sign.”

“_No_,” Olivia replies. “The sign says not to sit here during _public_ skates. This isn’t a public skate.”

Scott looks from the sign to her and back again.

“Well… you got me there, kid.”

Olivia smiles, looking entirely self-satisfied.

“So, what are you in for?” he asks, hopping over the front bench and sitting himself down.

She moves her mouth back and forth, pressing her gloved hands together by their fingertips.

“What do you mean?”

“Uh, well, it’s a saying,” Scott says. “Like when you get arrested and there’s someone next to you in your cell and you ask them -”

“I’m not in jail!” Olivia replies, her eyes widening with the panic.

“Of course not,” Scott says, sticking his palms in the air, slightly terrified that he may have just traumatized Tessa’s daughter by suggesting she’s some sort of felon. “I just meant… you see what I meant to do there was…”

But Olivia is smiling at him, observing him as if he were a small child – or some sort of woodland creature. She pets his shoulder in sympathy.

He smiles back. “You got me, eh?”

“Big time,” she says. “You should’ve seen your _face_. I thought your eyebrows were gonna pop off.”

“Yeah, well, they are overdue,” Scott replies, tousling her hair.

Olivia giggles.

“Your mom around?”

He follows her finger to the far side of the ice where Tessa is holding onto the hands of a toddler, wobbling forward on tiny skates. Every now and then, Tessa lets go and the kid takes a good couple of steps before landing bottom-first on the ice. He watches the way Tess smiles and scoops her back up, repeating the pattern as before. The child looks enamoured just to be in her presence, grinning toothily beneath her yellow helmet. Every time she falls, she claps her hands together as if it were absolutely the intent and then raises her arms in the air snapping her fingers like a crab and waiting to be swept up again.

“I didn’t know your mom trained kids that young,” Scott says, coming over to lean on the boards beside her.

Olivia shrugs.

“Not usually. Sometimes she just does it for fun, like if it’s someone’s little brother or sister. She _actually_ coaches Zoey over there, see? The one practicing her crossovers? She’s just finished up.”

Scott nods vaguely, looking up and down the ice as coaches and students seemed to move this way and that. Olivia cups his chin gently, turning his head in the right direction.

“That way,” she says.

“Ah, thank you,” he replies, with amusement. “Did you skate this morning?”

“Uh huh. Early. I’m learning my jumps though, I’ve been doing crossovers since I was four.”

“Well, with your mom as your teacher, I’m not surprised.” Scott says. “You’re very lucky to be trained by a champion.”

“Sometimes I think she just likes to do it ‘cause of the babies,” Olivia continues. “I’m pretty sure when she takes on someone new, she’s like ‘sure… but is there a baby I can play with after?’”

Scott can’t help but smile. “I think she does it down at the station too.”

“Not surprised,” she says. “One day she’s gonna come home with one of them in her purse and claim she doesn’t know how it got there. Do you have any sisters and brothers?”

“Uh, I have two brothers,” Scott replies. “But in my family, I was the baby.”

“Mom too. I didn’t get any.”

“Did you… do you… _want_ one? A brother or sister, I mean.” Scott says.

“Mm, maybe. Babies can be loud,” Olivia replies. “And besides, it would be kinda hard now.”

“Why’s that?” Scott says, hoping like hell he wasn’t about to get a play-by-play on Tessa’s love life.

“Because I was made in a Petri dish,” she says. “And I don’t think they keep any left-overs.”

Scott laughs. He likes this kid.

“So, is that why you made the video? Because if I remember rightly, when I stole your mom away at _Battle of the Blades_, you didn’t mind having her all to yourself.”

Olivia grins. “Yeah, but I was seven. Now I’m eight. There’s a difference.”

“Of course, there is,” Scott says, mimicking the seriousness of her expression.

"And besides, you didn't steal her away. You were always nice to me and... I liked watching you skate together. It was like a fairy tale."

Scott doesn't know what to say to that, although he has to admit, all those days spent with Tess felt like a dream. I was just a dream that didn't get a happily ever after.

Olivia twists her lip and casts her eyes in his direction.

“Do you… think it was bad? What I did?”

“Liv it’s… not for me to say,” he replies. “That’s between you and your mom.”

“I’m in pretty big trouble.”

“Grounded?”

“_Worse_. Consequences.”

Scott smiles.

“And now I can’t go see Elsa and Anna.”

“Oh,” Scott says. “Are they… friends of yours?”

A beat, then –

“_No_.”

“Oh.”

“They’re from _Frozen_. They were going to be at Eaton Centre but…”

“Kiddo, I’m sure your mom knows you were just trying to be helpful.”

“I just thought that… it would be nice because… if I asked for one – a dad, I mean – that the right one would, y’know…”

“Liv, I think for grown-ups, relationships are a little more complicated than that,” Scott replies.

Olivia sighs.

“I know, I know. I guess… her last boyfriend used to joke about how much everybody wants her. How she does jewelry and glasses and now she dances with kale.” She pulls a face. “And now she has a whole window display at the _Adidas_ store.”

“Do you find that weird?”

“Not really, I mean it’s her job and I’m used to it… but…”

Scott watches her closely, the way she looks up at the ceiling trying to find the words.

“Everyone wants Tessa Virtue,” she says. “But sometimes, when someone else comes into our lives, they don’t really want… So, I realized that… unless I find the right _dad_… that… maybe… not everyone will want _me_.”

There’s a lump in his throat that he finds hard to swallow.

What can he say to that? Does he give her hope? Dish out empty platitudes like candy?

Much like he did, Tessa lives a very private life. Hell, they were a good month into training for _Battle of the Blades_ before he’d even realized she had a kid. And he’d known her longer than that. So, as much as Scott thinks she’s comfortable telling him all this, he’s not sure it’s his place to get involved.

“You know what?” he says. “I’ve got some hockey sticks in the car, you want to give me a hand and get them out?”

“Sure! Let’s go!”

“Uh – flag your mother down, eh, and let her know? You don’t need any more of those consequences.”

“Right,” Olivia replies, waving her arms up and down. “Oh, here she comes now!”

Scott braces for impact as Tessa skates toward them, coming to a swift stop at the boards.

“It’s Scott Moir, Mom.”

“I see that.”

“He hasn’t seen _Frozen_.”

“Sure, I have,” Scott says. “It’s the one with the – uh – all the – uh – ice.”

“However did you guess?” Tessa replies.

“I... well I... hi,” he says, because he’s forgotten all other words and is beginning to wish he’d bought one of those dictionaries.

“Hi,” she replies. “What’re you – um -”

“Hockey. Gear. Meeting a buddy to um… donate.”

“Oh,” she says, clearly her grasp of English was as good as his this morning. “That’s really sweet of you.”

“Yeah, well,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck, and feeling slightly foolish.

“Scott wants to me to help grab some sticks from his car,” Olivia says, oblivious to their awkward exchange.

“We were going to check with you first,” Scott says. “Just to be clear, I wasn’t about to walk out of the arena with your child.”

Tessa’s lip twitches. “I didn’t think you were.”

“Imagine the headline.”

And then a smile.

The lump is back in his throat and he has to cough to clear it.

“Yeah, no, I was just… hanging out in here with Liv because… this… is where… they put all the people on the naughty list, eh?”

Olivia looks at him like he’s lost his mind.

“It’s the _bench_,” she says, climbing onto the board and placing her palm against his forehead. “Didn’t you play for the _Leafs_?”

Scott raises his eyebrows and looks at Tess.

She bites her lip and looks away, her expression telling him – in no uncertain terms – that he’s on his own with that one.

“Yeah but eh, I… wasn’t very good,” he replies mock seriously. “That’s why they kicked me out.”

“Oh yeah, must have been terrible for you,” Tessa says. “I mean, how unfortunate to have been the youngest Canadian in NHL history to begin his career with four consecutive thirty goal seasons.”

Scott nods. “It was tough.”

“_So _tough.”

“I still lie awake dreaming about it.”

“Who wouldn’t?”

“Exactly,” he says, cocking his head and giving her his best smile.

“Exactly… what?” she says, looking a little nervous now.

“Tell me, Tess, what other… interesting facts… have you memorized about me?”

“You know what, Liv?” Tessa says, turning her attention back to her daughter. “You go get those sticks, just in case I need to whack him over the head with one.”

“Okay,” Olivia says, giving another eye-roll. “But _just_ so you know, I’m a lover, not a fighter.”

Scott grins, watching as Olivia vaults over the bench wall and skips across the mats.

“She’s a good kid,” Scott says.

“Yes, she is,” Tessa replies.

“You – uh – feeling okay, after yesterday?”

“No.”

“Yeah, me neither,” he says, ducking his head a little. “Look, I… for what it’s worth… I didn’t mean to press your buttons.”

She lets out a breathy huff that’s almost a laugh. “Since when?”

He smiles sheepishly. “Yeah, well, I’ll go… um…”

“Yeah.”

“I’m just gonna get my…” he leans over to pick up his coffee cup.

"Is that from the machine?"

"Yeah," he replies, bringing it toward his mouth.

Tessa reaches out and covers the top with her hand. For a moment, his lips brush her skin and he looks up quickly to find her just as startled.

“Don’t drink that,” she says, her neck muscles working fast. “It’s sewage.”

“Oh,” he says, still trying to work out where he was in space-time. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So, I… guess I’ll go get that stick for you,” he says, chucking his thumb behind him. “Although, this time, might I recommend sneaking up on me someplace _quiet_? Like the janitor’s closet, or a locker room somewhere? No cameras and no _people_.”

Tessa smiles easily.

“Sounds like a plan,” she says. “I don’t have the keys to the cleaning closet, but I can do the locker room in thirty if that’s good?”

“Great,” he says, giving two thumbs up and jogging backwards toward the wall. “I’ll bring a helmet.”

She sighs. “Go find my kid, please.”

“On it,” he replies, swinging himself over.

“Thank you.”

“No problem and hey,” Scott says. “Don’t think I won’t be prepared. This is _not_ the first time I’ve been surprised by a girl in the locker room.”

He’s half-way to his car before he realizes – with a start – that when she’d rolled her eyes, it was not without a smile.

* * *

Tessa pulls into the parking lot of Fiesta Farms and backs the SUV into a bay before killing the engine.

“Fuel up,” she says, biting into a doughnut and turning in her seat to hand the rest to Olivia.

“Hey!” Olivia replies, unbuckling her seat belt and frowning at the sugared snack. “You gave me half a doughnut!”

“Yeah, well,” Tessa replies. “You’re only half a person.”

Olivia wrinkles her nose and Tessa does it straight back, adding a wink for good measure.

“Mom, seriously, _how_ am I supposed to suffer through these busy festive times, with crowded stores, on half a frosting?”

Tessa jumps out the car and walks around back to get a couple bags while Olivia climbs out.

“You gotta pace yourself kid, we’re going long distance here.”

Olivia appears beside her, chipmunk cheeks full to bursting, lips and chin covered in sugar sprinkles.

Tessa grins. “Come on, you, let’s see if we can find you a hot chocolate to wash all that down.”

They head to the entrance, dodging a sea of shoppers who were probably wise enough to get out early.

“You know there’s a child friendly bay right outside the door,” Olivia says. “We could have taken _that _one.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize your legs had stopped working,” Tessa replies, wrapping one arm around Olivia and giving her a squeeze.

“I’m just saying. _I’m_ a child.”

“Counter-point. How about we give the bay to parents whose children have smaller legs?”

“If the children with smaller legs _want_ the bay, _they_ should have gotten here _first_.”

Tessa laughs and Olivia grins up at her.

“Do we need a cart?”

“Mm, let’s go to the tree lot first,” Tessa replies. “Anything else we can pick up after.”

They head out back to the gardens where rows upon rows of metal grids stand squared across the earth, connecting at the top. Suspended from the frames, is every type of Christmas tree you can imagine – from Firs, to Pine, to Spruce – their branches flying free.

The smell is incredible.

“What about this one, Mom?” Olivia says, practically giving the eight-foot Balsam fir a hug.

Tessa balks at the thought of manhandling that through the living room.

“I don’t think Grandma has a high enough ceiling,” she replies. “Maybe something a little smaller, okay?”

“Okay!” Olivia says, skipping over to a group of very tall Scotch pines and sticking her nose into the branches. “Mm, this one?”

“My child has no depth perception,” Tessa says.

“Oh, this one is like JeJe’s!” Olivia says, pointing to the small potted spruce a few rows in.

“You’re right, it does look like hers.”

“But she doesn’t have a real one, does she?”

“No, I don’t think she wants the mess,” Tessa replies. “And you have to remember to water it.”

“Do trees need a lot of water?”

“Well, yeah, otherwise they get really thirsty and their needles drop off faster. You don’t want to wake up to a brown tree on Christmas Day do ya?”

“Nope!” Olivia replies. “Hey, what about these? Do you think Grandma would like this one?”

Tessa follows her daughter back to the rows of Balsam firs and circles a six-footer.

“Or this one?” Olivia says, skipping back across the path to the rows of Frasers.

_Thank God I only gave her half a doughnut._

“Liv?” Tessa says, rounding the tree and side-stepping a few people. “Sorry, excuse me. _Liv_?”

She looks left and right but it’s a busy lot and it’s difficult to see through the crowds.

“Liv!”

Tessa jogs in the direction she thinks Olivia went, looking up and down the rows of trees. She can’t have gone far. Reaching up onto her toes, she scans the people ahead of her, looking for any sign of a blue bobbled hat.

“_Liv!_”

Her heart catches in her throat. She knows her child. Olivia wouldn’t purposely not respond, which means she can’t hear her. The pulsing in her ears intensifies as she casts about, heading back the way she came.

Still no sign of her.

_Oh God._

She could be anywhere, she could be -

“Lose something?”

Tessa spins on her heel, momentarily confused by the voice she knows so well and the displacement of finding it here.

Scott is heading toward her, guiding Olivia by the shoulders. There’s a golden retriever, lapping at his heels.

She lets out a breath, her heart thumping terribly as she tries to ease it back to normal.

“I think she got a little turned around,” Scott says. “Pretty sure five generations of family just waltzed right through there and shifted the earth off its axis.”

“Thank you,” Tessa says, reaching for Olivia’s cheeks. She looks panicky and her eyelashes are damp. “You alright, bean?”

Olivia nods, falling face first into her mother’s coat. Tessa strokes the back of her head.

“Scott Moir rescued me,” Olivia says, her voice muffled.

Tessa glances at Scott who looks a little surprised at being labeled a hero.

“I think ‘rescued’ is probably a strong word,” she whispers, but there’s a smile on her lips that tells him she’s grateful.

“I think I’ll take it,” Scott replies.

“What are you doing here?”

“Well, I was looking for something big and green.”

“You mean like the Hulk?”

He pulls a face. “Very funny.”

“I thought it was cute.”

She looks down feeling the warmth of something nuzzling into her glove. Olivia is already bending over to rub her hands up and down the dog’s fur.

“Look, Mom, Scott Moir has a dog.”

“Y’know, you can just call me, Scott,” he tells her, although it’s clear to both of them she’s not even listening. He'd never been successful at getting her to call him that. “And – uh – yeah, this is Barker.”

Tessa snorts. “Your dog’s name is _Barker_?”

“Yep.”

“_Barker_.”

The dog barks once and licks her gloved hand.

“See?” Scott says. “Barker.”

Tessa shakes her head. “You must just sit home all day and crack yourself up.”

“Oh, not just at home,” Scott replies, with a grin.

_“Oh, um, hi, excuse me?”_

They both turn suddenly, at the sound of the voice. There’s a young woman approaching them, maybe early to mid twenties - though Tessa isn’t sure. She has the giggly, nervous energy of someone who is trying to interrupt someone they don’t know personally. Tessa notes the excited gleam of her smile as she stares, somewhat coyly, at Scott and she casts a wary eye at the cellphone in her hand.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she says, with the tone of somebody who was not sorry at all. “But are you Scott Moir?”

Tessa glances over at Scott, who actually looks a little flustered by the intrusion, before he finds that boyish smile.

“Uh, yes, yeah, that’s me, eh,” he says.

“Oh my God! I knew it! I _adore_ you! I’m Jessie, I’m a _huge_ _Leafs_ fan, me and my friends follow _all_ the parties around, I’m just here to pick up a few gifts from the market. We actually just had a thing at Cody Ceci’s – sort of like an early birthday present – it was _so_ much fun, you totally should have come. I wasn’t around when you were still playing – I didn’t have an ‘in’ then – otherwise I _definitely_ would have introduced myself. I know you’re on TV now but I’m usually sleeping because it’s early, but anyway I’m a _big_ fan!”

“Thank you,” Scott says, entirely taken aback, but doing his best to cover.

The woman sounds breathless, flushed with the excitement as she looks about for someone to share the moment with. Her eyes fall on Tessa and Olivia, pretending to notice them for the first time, and her expression falters just a little.

“Oh,” Scott says, gesturing to them both. “This is Tessa, my co-host, and her daughter Olivia.”

“Jessie” seems less than enthusiastic to meet them, but Tessa is hardly surprised. Puck Bunnies weren’t exactly thrilled with women outside of their circle.

“Oh… right,” she says, eyeing Tessa with extreme distaste. “You’re the one who made him look bad. It was _all_ over Twitter. You know you _really_ shouldn’t have started a fight with him like that, do you _know_ how much he’s done for his country? I mean, he’s won _awards_. He went to the _Olympics_.”

Tessa glances at Olivia, who is looking between them all with confusion, sensing something is wrong but unable to pinpoint what.

“Liv, honey,” Tessa says. “You see that tree over there? I think that might be _just_ the one we need. Why don’t you head on over and read the sign underneath, try to memorize as many facts as you can to tell Grandma.”

“Okay,” Olivia says. “Can Barker come too?”

“Sure,” Scott says.

“Just don’t go anywhere else, okay?”

“Okay!”

Tessa turns back to Jessie, wishing more than ever that she didn’t have to put a polite face on this, and was met with a cold stare.

“Not exactly a good example to set to your daughter, is it?” Jessie says. “We were _all_ talking about it in our group chat.

Tessa wonders if the woman would still be this bold, had she not been fueled by the idea of Scott’s attention.

“Um, y’know actually… Jessie,” Scott says, diverting her attention. “Tessa here won two gold medals at the Olympics, for figure skating. Or was it three? You did a team event, right? Anyway, she’s way more decorated than I am. And that whole thing was really all a big misunderstanding. We’d had a long week, we were rehearsing for a segment, and we really didn’t expect for our private conversation to find its way onto the Internet.”

Tessa tries to hide her surprise but can’t help her mouth opening a little.

“Oh… well...” Jessie replies, suddenly unsure of herself. “We were all just… concerned.”

Tessa can feel her stomach churning.

“Thank you,” Scott says, “for the concern, but we’re fine – actually we were just about to head for some coffee.”

“Oh?”

Tessa wonders if she was waiting for an invite.

“And we really, _really_,” Scott continues, “appreciate our privacy, which, I’m sure you can understand?”

So, he hadn’t missed the phone either.

“Of course,” Jessie replies, her expression and tone overly bright. “I was just… wondering… um… if I could get a picture?”

“Sure,” Scott replies, although it’s the kind of ‘sure’ that Tessa recognizes as Scott’s ability to move things along quickly.

“Oh Tessa, would you mind?” Jessie says, bending her knees and pouting a little as if they’re suddenly best friends.

“Absolutely,” Tessa replies, taking the phone. “I’ll take a couple so you can decide the best ones.”

“That would be fab!”

Tessa thumbs the camera button a few times but also uses Jessie’s ever-changing side-to-side head bop, to hit one of the photos on the corner of the screen so it opened the camera roll. She was relieved to see there were no images – or videos – of her and Scott.

“All done,” she says, handing it back.

Jessie did not say thank you.

“Well, it was nice to meet you,” Scott says. “We better be going. Need to rescue my dog before he’s belly-rubbed into a coma.”

He places his palm in the small of Tessa’s back and steers her away, toward Barker and Olivia. It’s a strange sensation, one she isn’t used to outside the realm of their professional relationship, and yet it’s also incredibly familiar.

“Sorry,” Scott murmurs, leaning in a little.

“No,” Tessa says, really just searching for words. “No, that was great. Thank you.”

“Wow! Did Tessa Virtue just call me ‘great’?”

“_No_. Tessa Virtue said your handling of a difficult _situation_ was great.”

“Mm, I don’t know, eh?” he says. “That’s not what I heard.”

Tessa bends down, grabbing a pine needle off the ground.

“What’s that for?” Scott asks.

“To clean out your ears,” she says, making a play for the side of his head.

He grabs her wrist gently, the two of them tugging back and forth playfully.

“Careful, eh?” Scott says with a laugh. “Don’t wanna wind up on the evening news.”

“Ha ha,” she replies. “You’ll be pleased to know, there was nothing on her phone.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You say that now, Moir, but she’s got a _bunch_ of pictures of the two of you she’s going to post to the Internet with a lascivious caption.”

“Lascivious eh? How bad can it be?”

Tessa gives her social media dense co-host a look.

“What?” he says.

“If one of those pictures isn’t online in the next fifteen minutes followed by ‘I want my headboard to give you a concussion’ - I’ll eat my hat.”

* * *

Olivia studies them over the rim of her hot chocolate, moving her lips along the heap of frothy cream.

They’re sitting in the garden centre’s coffee shop, over in a corner near the fireplace, Barker’s head in her lap. She scratches his ears, trying to think of a way to steer the conversation onto more important matters.

Sure, she has to be careful. She can’t run in all crazy and get herself in trouble again.

She’d heard them mention the show, when she’d come out of the washroom and found them waiting just outside, Scott saying they could pull it off, her mother looking doubtful.

They were in trouble.

Maybe even bigger trouble than _she_ was, because at least, at the end of the day, her mom still loves her. But what if the _country_ stops loving _them_? She can’t let that happen.

She’d heard her mom talking to JeJe – she was really worried what people were thinking about her and saying about her. What happens if they go out there tomorrow morning and they can’t fix it? She doesn’t want her mom - or Scott - to lose her job. Maybe… if she can just get them to see things her way…

“I want to help,” she says abruptly, causing her mother and Scott to look at her curiously. “I heard what you guys were saying outside the washroom. I know you have to make everything right again. And I know your boss wants you to use my video to do it.”

“Liv,” Tessa says.

“Hear me out – _please_?”

She watches her mother exchange a glance with Scott.

“Okay Liv,” she says. “What would you like to say?”

“I know I didn’t do the right thing,” Olivia says. “But… but I thought I was. I wanted to make a wish for Christmas because I thought… I thought it would be something that would make you happy.”

Her mother shifts her eyes to Scott, as if she’s trying to pretend he isn’t there.

“But what if… what if this is how it’s supposed to be?” she continues. “What if I’m supposed to help _you_ beat Christmas?”

“Livvie,” her mom says. “That’s really sweet. But I cannot put you in the middle of this.”

“Your mom’s right, kid,” Scott adds. “When our boss said they wanted to do a whole show around it… they didn’t know it would be about helping… your mother.”

“So, when they _didn’t_ know it was you… what… _did_ they want to do?”

“Well,” her mom says, spreading her palms away from the warmth of her mug. “They wanted to… help you find… a dad.”

She looks stuck on her words, like when you have to stand up in front of the class and talk about what you’d learned.

“I don’t have a problem with this,” Olivia says.

Tessa wipes the cream on Olivia’s nose with her finger.

“I’ll bet you don’t,” she says. “The thing is, hon, I’m not comfortable with people knowing it was your letter. It will invite a lot of attention that won’t go away.”

“I understand,” Olivia says. “But what if there was a way to do it, _without_ people knowing it was me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… I don’t know. What did they want to do with the show?”

“Well” Scott says, jumping in. “They wanted to look for – uh -” He shoots her mother a glance. “They wanted your mom to – uh -”

“They thought in order to show that Scott and I get along,” her mom says, “that it would be fun to show me… meeting different… men.”

“Like a date?” Olivia says.

“Yeah, but they would… uh… be y’know… good… dad… type people,” Scott adds.

Her mother gives him a look.

“So… they want you to get along by… not… spending time together?” Olivia says.

“Well, that would solve a thing or two,” Scott murmurs. This time, her mother flashes her eyes at him. “Okay, okay, no, it’s more about… being able to share with everyone what… makes a good dad.”

“Oh,” Olivia says, looking between the two of them. “Well, that sounds pretty cool. I did ask for it in my letter.”

“You did,” Scott replies.

“Oh! And it could also be like - what to do when the girl you like has a _kid_, right?”

Her mom’s face goes from red to white and Olivia thinks they might need to move away from the fire.

“Sweetheart,” she says. “It would mean making you a part of something that… may not turn out the way you want it to.”

“I understand,” Olivia says. “But maybe it’s chance we need to find someone who…”

She takes a quick sip of her drink, her eyes darting to Scott and her mom looks between them trying to work out what it was she wanted to say.

“You have to understand kid, that this would all just be an experiment,” Scott says. “It’s television and so much of what you see… isn’t real.”

“Scott’s right, hon, I don’t want you to get hurt. Doing the show doesn’t mean that anything will happen. And there may even be… dad types… who _you_ don’t like or who _I_ don’t like.”

“That’s okay,” Olivia says. “Because Scott will be there. Just like on _Battle of the Blades_ – he won’t let you fall.”

“Scott, will be where, bug?”

“On the dates,” Olivia says, as if her mother has completely missed the point of all this.

She watches her mom’s head turn slowly towards Scott, her cheeks beginning to turn pink again. Scott looks stunned.

“Do I get a buzzer?” he says.

Her mother whacks him on the arm.

“I know that it might sound like a crazy idea,” Olivia says, “but maybe _my _wish means that _your_ wish can come true. And _everybody_ needs a special wish at Christmas… right?

“_Woof_,” says Barker.

Resting back in her chair, Olivia scratches the top of the dog’s head and eyes them both across the table.

Scott leans in toward her mother.

“She’s good,” he whispers.

Her mother folds her arms and looks right back at him.

“_Oh_, yeah,” she replies.  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all the lovely comments you've been leaving, especially the 'welcome backs'. I'm having a really rough holiday season and, I guess, in a place where I've never thought myself much of an 'anyone' around these parts, those 'welcome backs' have really warmed my heart, so thank you again ♥♥♥


	5. Resting Grinch Face

“Good morning, Philip,” Scott says, waltzing through the studio doors with a spring in his step.

“Good morning, Mr. Moir,” Philip replies, looking up from the front desk.

“One of these days I’m going to get you to call me _Scott_.”

“I’m afraid I have to err on the side of valuing my own head, sir.”

Scott laughs. “Yeah, I get that.”

“Good weekend? Get any Christmas shopping done?”

“I seem to be flying by the seat of my pants this year. But I _was_ out looking at trees yesterday.”

“Ah, going for a real one?”

“Oh yeah, I love a real tree,” Scott replies, wondering why Philip is eyeing him with amusement. “What? Have I got something on my face?”

“It’s just… the way you were smiling just there.”

“Smiling?”

“Yeah, smiling.”

“I wasn’t smiling… I was _smiling_?”

“You were,” Philip confirms.

“Do I not… normally smile?”

“It’s not the smile itself, but the intent behind it.”

“Uh…”

“I’m just saying, I’ve never seen anyone smile like _that_ over a _tree_.”

Scott wags his finger in the air. “Maybe, it was just a really good tree.”

“Of course, Mr. Moir.”

“Scott.”

He waves Philip off with a grin and heads through the main doors. Maddy is already careening toward him.

_Oh boy._

“Bad news,” she says.

“The Christmas Tree Farm thief is back?”

“The what? Oh. No. God, no, I can’t go back to that one again, don’t even suggest it.”

“I’ve already erased it from my bank of ‘topics of conversation to have in the hallway’,” Scott replies. “What’s the bad news?”

“Catherine wants to see you.”

He sighs, pressing his fingers to the sides of his temple to ward off the headache he knew would be coming.

“For the record,” Maddy says. “I wasn’t happy about it either, but Clara hung up on me before I could even finish my sentence.”

Scott smiles grimly, stepping into the elevator alongside her.

“Any idea what she wants?”

“Oh, I don’t know, could be anything from your first born to your immortal soul - who the hell knows.”

The elevator sounds and Scott holds the door while Maddy steps out.

“Where’s your head today?” Maddy says.

“It’s good.”

“Good. Don’t let her get to you. Don’t get mad. Just let her say her piece and then I’ll find you something stuffed with cheese to take your mind off it.”

“One hundred percent holding you to that.”

They reach the Chief Exec’s reception area, her assistant perching at a semi-circular desk in the fore-front, her position clearly the last remaining barrier between this world and demonic evil.

Clara is already rising from her seat and Scott frowns as she opens the door to Catherine’s office.

“Maddy, where’s Tess?” he says, quietly.

Maddy looks at him with a pained expression.

“Catherine asked to see _you_,” she replies, the emphasis on the ‘you’, making her meaning plain.

Tess wasn’t invited.

He steps into the office, turning just as Clara pulls the door closed, leaving his producer on the other side. Maddy looks on helplessly through the glass, apologizing for not seeing - whatever this is - coming.

He watches the way Clara glares at her, as if she was somehow wearing out the carpet by continuing to stand there. Maddy takes the hint and moves off, heading back towards the elevator.

“Ah, Scott,” Catherine says, while his back is still turned. She gestures toward one of the chairs in front of her. “Take a seat.”

It wasn’t a request.

Scott sits, his good mood evaporating around him.

“Mm, Scott,” she says. “You know I never cared much for hockey.”

Scott scratches his eye, waiting for the reason he was being subjected to this revelation.

“All that _fighting_, men… pushing each other all over the place,” she continues. “All that _equipment_ to keep you all from injury.”

“Well,” Scott says. “Usually hockey players train from a young age and you get taught how to use all of the equipment… and how to play safely.”

“Indeed,” Catherine says, with no real interest. “My children took a few lessons when they were younger, did I ever tell you that?”

Scott shakes his head.

“Now it’s all electronics and cellphones,” she says. “And while I’m not fond of the expense, I’m glad I don’t have to contend with all those useless sticks lying about the house. I swear to God, if you gave me one of those right now, I’d have no idea what to do with it.”

Scott thinks he could give her a few.

“But,” she says. “It doesn’t really matter what my personal feelings about it are. The point is, you were good at it, and I dare say you’d be a good fit for Sports. They like you over there and you certainly know your stuff.”

“Thank you,” he replies, carefully, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.

He watches her tap her finger against her desk, drumming it to the beat of whatever was in her head.

“It’s obvious to me,” Catherine continues. “That we as a network were never going to be able to keep up this… charade… forever. An incident like Friday’s was inevitable. Quite frankly, I’m surprised it took this long.”

Scott shifts uncomfortably, the sharpness in her gaze zeroing in on him like a spotlight.

“And I’ve been thinking… maybe it _is_ time to break up the gang a little bit.”

“I’m sorry, I really don’t follow.”

“I mean, sure, we’ll follow the formula – maybe get a ratings spike as you both put on your best performance faces, but at the end of the day the magic of _Good Morning Toronto_ will die with the termination of your partnership. Yes, I know there are others on the team that round it all out but truth is, you two _are_ the glue.”

Scott swallows, feeling the anvil dangling just above his head.

“Scott, I think we can come to some sort of arrangement here,” she says. “Just before the New Year, I’ll announce a spot opening up in Sports. For you.”

“But I thought I still had two months left on -”

“Oh contractually, sure, but we can work something out,” she replies, waving him off. “The thing is all this… fluff… who _cares_? I mean, yes, the viewers will drink it all in but like I say, when it’s over, the magic of you two will be gone and I’m left with all of this… hanging. _You_. You will adapt, you will blend in, because we can send you anywhere and back to a world that people recognize. But _Good Morning Toronto_… well… let’s just say that Tessa Virtue without Scott Moir is not a segment I want to tune in for.”

Scott can feel the tick in his jaw working, a cold realization slowly working in.

“So,” Catherine says. “As of next year, we’ll have a complete restructure, start afresh, start testing some new faces so we see what audiences will go for et cetera, et cetera. Brian thinks we should be expanding nationally, and I agree. So, _Good Morning Toronto_ will be no more, and we’ll replace it with something… fresh. Completely reborn.”

“But that’s Tess’s show,” he says, quietly. “You said it would be hers.”

“That was when there was a show to give her.” Catherine shrugs. “Oh, don’t look at me like that, she’s a pretty face, she’ll be fine.”

“Are you… are you telling me you’re _firing_ her?”

“Firing? God no! She’s too valuable. Plus, she has a _very_ vocal fan base and Peter would absolutely kill me if he had to put up with them all day. So no, not firing, just… redistributing. We’ll stick her on morning television somewhere between the infomercials and the ridiculous robots.”

“You’ll… stick?” Scott says. “Catherine, she’s a journalist. She actually… went to _school_ for this. She’s good at her job – she’s... great at it.”

“I agree. But the fact of the matter remains is that Virtue without Moir will not survive. Not in this context.”

“Not in what context?”

“You came in as a package, that’s what works,” Catherine says. “Now, with the split up inevitable, and the knowledge that you will no longer be contractually bound to one another, I have to decide what’s best for this network, and what’s best… is _this_.”

Scott can’t believe what he’s hearing. Yes, this was always the plan, for them to go their own separate ways but he'd never have wanted it to be at Tessa's expense.

“You’ll lose her.”

He says it quietly. So quietly in fact, that for a minute, he’s not even sure she’s heard.

Catherine gets up out of her chair and walks toward the window, gazing out at the Toronto skyline.

“I don’t have the _luxury_ of waiting for the country to get _used_ to the idea that Tessa Virtue now flies solo. And _you_ don’t have the time to convince me otherwise.”

“I’m sorry, that sounds like a challenge.”

“No, Scott, it’s not anything. Because there’s nothing to be done,” Catherine tells him. “By all means, go out and do the fluff piece, you two will bring in the viewers, of course you will. Even if everyone in the city is just tuning in to see whether you’re going to start hooking each other around the necks with candy canes or something equally ridiculous. It’s a win-win for me. The stage is set, all _you_ have to do, Scott, is follow the script. We _all _know you’re not going to spend your final days as a morning anchor trying to prove to me that this show is worth saving. It’s a means to an end to you. So, take my advice… find the kid, put her on the air, run some puppy-dog eyes at Tess while we all pretend to find love and magic. And at the end of it all - you get what you want.”

“I get what I want,” he says.

“You get what you want.”

Scott’s done sitting and he gets out of his chair, walking around the back and leaning against the frame.

“What if you’re wrong?” he says.

“Wrong?” she replies. “About what?”

“About Tess. About how audiences feel about her.”

Catherine laughs, but it’s ugly and low.

“I mean, why put her through any of this if you’re just going to pull the rug out from under her later?” he adds. “For ratings?”

She’s smiling at him now, the kind of smile that precedes a pounce.

He ignores it anyway. “I’m not doing this, Catherine.”

“Oh, but you are, Scott,” she replies. “Because you have something to lose if you don’t.”

“And what am I supposed to tell Tess about all this?”

“You don’t have to tell her anything. It’s not your problem anymore, in fact, if you want to keep your job next year, you _won’t_ tell her anything.”

Scott can feel the pulse of anger – and betrayal – pulsing through his ears.

“Then I’ll walk,” he says. “Right now.”

“No, you won’t,” she replies. “Because that would be breach of contract. You are not free to do anything until Christmas Eve as per our agreement.”

“You can’t keep changing the rules.”

“And yet I have,” she says. “If you tell Tessa anything about what we’ve just talked about, I will fire her, _without_ hesitation. And then… I will fire you.”

Scott stares at her, his jaw now working overtime.

“You may go,” Catherine says, sitting back down in her chair and leaning her elbows on the table so she can clasp her hands.

Numb, Scott heads toward the door and reaches for the handle. “You’re wrong, you know.”

“Wrong about what, Scott?”

He turns back to face her.

“About Tess,” he says. “About the backlash this would cause.”

Catherine regards him coolly, clearly irritated that he’s still there.

“Prove it,” she replies.

* * *

  
  
“Hi, this is Scott Moir…

No, wait... _I’m_ Scott Moir.

No. I’m Scott _Moir_.

_This_ is Scott Moir.

I am _him_. He?

He is _me_.

Scott Moir!  
  
...  
  
Hi. This is Scott Moir and _I_ … am royally fucked.”

“Don’t hold back,” Tessa says, standing in his dressing room doorway and leaning against the frame, arms folded across her chest. “Tell us how you really feel.”

Scott looks at her through the reflection in his mirror and raises his hands.

“Yeah, um” he says, swivelling his chair around to face her. “Nobody was supposed to hear that.”

She flicks her finger back and forth across the frame. “That’s why they have _doors_.”

“You _really_ are a different person on a weekday, eh?”

“It was a joke,” she says, taking a step back just outside his doorway, and he wonders whether it was worth that hitting its mark.

"Maybe next time you can come in with a sign so I'm prepared," he says, irritated with himself for taking it out on her.

She sighs. “You really can’t let one slide, can you?”

“I don’t know, _can_ I? _Dare_ I? When I need a GPS most days to navigate your thoughts.”

Tessa’s back straightens, her mouth dropping open in response.

“You know,” she says. “For a moment… I thought maybe I had it all wrong.”

“Had what wrong?” he says, getting out of the chair and walking over.

“Yesterday,” Tessa replies. “You reminded me of someone I used to know. And I thought maybe… maybe he had come back.”

“This is who I’ve always been, Tess.”

“No, it isn't. Only with me. And only since -”

He raises his eyebrows waiting for her to say it, waiting for her to throw a brick at the barrier between them and shatter a few shards while she’s at it.

But she doesn’t say it. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Jesus, Tess, would it kill you to open up once in a while?” Scott says.

“Why? So, I can teach you how to take a joke?”

“_No_. So I don’t have to wrack my goddamn brain whenever you say one thing and mean another!”

“I don’t…”

It hits him, as she looks around his dressing room, probably searching for the same goddamn reason why they’re having this argument in the first place, that he doesn’t want this.

He’d never wanted it – the tension, the bickering, and then the flip of the switch when the studio goes red and he gets to be that normal guy who laughs and jokes, who holds her hand at award shows and who wants to win the pie eating contest just to see the absolute joy on her face as he comes up covered in blueberries.

Because… he _is _that guy. It’s the guy he wanted to be. He knows he's being a jerk, he knows he should be better than this but... somewhere, along the way, it just became easier to be somebody else. It protected him from something he’d never known how to deal with…

How to pretend you didn’t love someone…

who never wanted you back.

“Tess, I’m… Jesus, I really don’t know what’s got into me today.”

She raises her eyebrows but she’s not looking at him, her attention is fixed on his calendar.

Scott glances behind him, to the wall of X’s that mark the countdown to their finality.

Until last Friday, he’d never thought about it from her perspective at all, and he wonders what it means that it hurt her.

“Look, I didn’t come here to fight,” she says, eventually, her eyes finally flicking to his. “I just came to say… whatever happens… I appreciate the way you handled Olivia yesterday. She’s a ball of excitement and creativity most days and not everyone knows how to handle that.”

“It’s not a problem,” Scott says. “She’s a… she’s a terrific kid, T, I’ve always thought that.”

“Thank you.”

She looks like she wants to say something else, but he can see the doubt creeping in. He really should have known better than to slip back into old habits because he was nervous about any other outcome. There was something yesterday - and the day before that. Something old and familiar stirring between them and it confused the hell out of him. He doesn’t dare think that maybe he’d been wrong – she’d made that pretty clear after the _Battle of the Blades_ final – and yet…

He thinks about the time he’d had a drink with Maddy and Jenn. How Maddy had sat between them and joked that it was because Jenn had once said he’s the only guy whose babies she’d ever have. Jenn kept ordering drinks trying to get him to spill the lowdown on his love life, but Scott, who had gained more than enough experience over the years on how to keep that part of his life relatively private, had managed to steer that particular conversation in circles.

That is, until she’d mentioned his “beautiful” co-host, and Maddy had cocked her head with an equal look of interest.

“The Virtch?” he’d said, taking a large sip of his beer. “Man, she would rather stake me to the wall and fire arrows at my chest.”

“That’s interesting,” Maddy had replied. “Because she fields an _awful_ lot of questions about you.”

“About me?”

He remembers the strange look on her face, as if she’d been disappointed in his reply.

“Mm hm. People are always asking her if you guys are dating and when she says ‘no’ they always ask her what you’re like in person… what kind of guy you are.”

Scott, who would never have guessed that anyone would remotely care to ask her this, said –

“And – uh – what did she… say? Do I have to be on the lookout for those ‘zero stars’ reviews?”

“No,” Maddy had replied. “She always says you’re a good guy.”

“Are you okay?” Tessa says, drawing him back to the present. “You look like you’re having a stroke.”

“Yeah, I…” He rubs the back of his neck, wondering why he keeps doing that around her. “I think I’ve just… been idiot enough for one day… or… year.”

She looks surprised, and in a strange way, he finds that encouraging.

“Look,” he says. “Can we just draw a line in the sand? And I know I’m saying that standing fully as the asshole here.”

She smiles, sadly, and he realizes that when she’d walked in, she really _had_ meant it as a joke. She wasn’t just going for the dig he’d assumed she was.

“I know we’ve gotta do this,” he continues. “That any choice we had went flying out the window when… I shouldn't have blindsided you like that in the store and you and... Nick... was none of my business. I'm sorry.”

“I'm sorry too,” she says, looking up at him with an expression that makes him wonder if she was talking about last Friday... or everything else.

“I could really use a partner right now," he tells her. "Vultures circling and all that.”

“I’d like that,” Tessa replies.

“Okay then,” he says, bobbing his head up and down and thinking he must look like an owl.

“Okay.”

“And I meant it, T. About Liv. I remember meeting her last year and… she was such a little firecracker.”

Tessa smiles.

“Y’know, she once came to practice and you were on the other side of the ice talking choreography and she leaned over the boards and asked me if P.J had found his toe pick yet?”

“She did not!” Tessa says, putting a hand to her mouth to cover the laugh.

“Did too! She also made me give a play-by-play of my entire skating and training history… obviously so she could determine my worthiness and longevity as your partner.”

“You’re making that up.”

“Am not,” he replies. “I had to tell her I wore girl’s skates when I started.”

“Oh no.”

“Actually, I think that worked in my favour.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She said I showed… commitment.”

Tessa laughs again and he decides it’s a sound he definitely likes.

“So, yeah,” he says. “I mean, I know you don’t need to hear it but… she’s a great kid. And you should be proud.”

“I am,” Tessa replies. “She’s the kind of person who’ll just go for it, set her sights on a goal and start drawing up plans to get there. Sometimes she seems so grown up because she’s smart and wily – and so incredibly funny. But she’s still a kid… she’s _my_ kid. And I’ll stand in front of a _bus_ to keep her from hurt… even if that bus has our faces on it.”

She brushes the corner of her eye with a finger and he watches the way she bites her bottom lip, suddenly looking everywhere but at him.

He’s not sure he’s ever seen her so vulnerable – which is saying something seeing as he once had to balance her on his thighs. Scott takes a deep breath.

“I, uh… I know this is asking a lot considering but… do you trust me?”

She looks at him strangely, her left eye squinting a little, and for a moment, he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

Then he hears the footsteps down the hall.

“Shit, someone’s coming, get in here,” he says, tugging her by the elbow and pulling her inside before closing the door and flicking off the light.

“Um…”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “I realize what I just did there. Stop looking at me like that.”

She looks amused, leaning back against the door, with him half a foot away, one hand pressed on the door, the other reaching out to turn the latch.

He looks up at the knock, eyes finding hers, and he swears her pulse is quickening.

_“Scott? Are you in there? Scott?”_

The footsteps seem to move in the opposite direction – presumably to check Tessa’s dressing room.

Tessa frowns in confusion.

“What are you -”

“Shh,” he whispers, his finger reaching for her lips before he thinks better of it and lowers it back down.

Tessa turns her head to eye the hand pressing against the door, before slowly turning back to face him. She puts her hand to his chest and he fully expects her to push him away.

But she doesn’t.

She’s got one hand on his heart and it’s pounding out to her in reply.

He can’t help the way his eyes drop to her lips, the way they part a little in surprise. At what, he doesn’t know. Whether it’s in response to him, the way his body mirrors hers, edging closer with the brush of thighs, or whether it’s something else – like the fact he yanked her through an open doorway to hide from his assistant.

Either way, whatever it is, he hopes it means he never has to move ever again.

Eventually the footfalls fade, and he’s faced with the reality that they have a show to do. However, much he may want to, he can’t stay here, and it probably wouldn’t do him good anyway.

Scott reaches out and turns on the light, flashing a smile he hopes is charming enough to disarm her, without being overly familiar.

“You’re – uh – probably wondering why I…”

“Just a little,” she replies, unable to avoid the rush of breath against his chin.

He wonders when she’d first begun to hold it.

“Yeah, well I – uh – thought it might be Peter or Catherine or Clara coming to… clarify… something.”

Tessa snorts.

_Why is she always doing that? Doesn’t she have any compassion?_

He steps back allowing space – and sanity – to grow between them.

“In all honesty, I just needed a minute from the chaos of… everything out there,” he says. “I’m tired of the mind games and I think… I think I realized this weekend that maybe I have an ally in that. An ally I didn’t know I had before.”

Tessa nods. “You do.”

“Then I say again. Do you trust me?”

She watches him a moment and he knows she’s searching her memory for any time where she might have had doubt.

“Yes,” she says, finally. “I do.”

“Good,” he says. “Because if we do this dance, I want it to be on our terms. And I want to do it _our_ way.”

“Our way? I don’t understand, how’re we going to -”

“They want to _use_ you, me, Olivia as pawns in some kind of… ratings game,” Scott says. “And Catherine doesn’t give a damn about what comes after. I don’t trust her and you shouldn’t either. So, I’m going out there but I don’t have any intentions of playing by their rule book.”

“And we will get _fired_.”

“Not if we give her what she wants.”

“But isn’t that just… playing into her hands?”

“She wants ratings – we can give her that. She didn’t exactly specify _how_ she wanted us to get them,” Scott says.

“And we were in a crowded room at the time with the entire board,” Tessa says.

“Exactly,” Scott says. “Look, I’m not interested in playing cat and mouse, and at the end of the day, I want to walk out of this building every night with my head held high. I don’t want anyone taking liberties with a child’s wish because they’re thinking in dollar signs. And I don’t want to see… my partner… embarrassed.”

“Thank you,” Tessa says, a small smile on her lips. “That means a lot.”

“I mean – unless we’re doing Christmas cookies again like last year because I -”

“No!” she says, pushing at his outstretched hand with her fist. “No, thank you. I think I’ve learned never to accept food from you Scott Moir.”

He grins, feeling a lot like his old self again. “So, what do you say? I got your back out there, have you got mine?”

She uncurls her fingers, stretching them into his palm.

“Absolutely.”

* * *

comments are ♥


	6. Claus-trophobia

“Good morning Toronto, I’m Tessa Virtue -”

“And I’m Scott Moir.”

“We’re live from the studio today bringing you all the day’s news, entertainment, weather, and of course - holiday spirit - right to your front door.”

“Speaking of weather - we all know how cold it is outside this time of year, but we’re also aware that a lot of you out there have been talking about whether or not it’s gotten chilly in _here _too_._”

“Yes... we’ve seen the hashtags.”

“You guys are _very_ creative. I particularly liked ‘Virtchy it’s cold outside’. What about you, Tess?”

“Hm… I think Frosty the Moir Man was a big hit in my head.”

“At least that hit left you bauble-print free… do you know how hard it is to get glitter out of your hair?”

“I was a nineties kid and I have a daughter that loves crafts, so it’s a safe bet.”

“Understood. And, hey, you know what’s so crazy about this time of year? We spend… so long… don’t we, just building up this season? Everything and everyone is reminding you of the million things you have to do before you get there and then you spend the holiday weekend with your family doing even _more_ things and sometimes the whole process, it drives you a little…”

“Crazy?”

“Yes!”

“I get that. It can be a really stressful time of year. You’re cold, and you’re tired, and it’s really easy to forget for a moment how lucky you are to have what you do – whether it’s family or friends… or a really good partner.”

“Y’know, sometimes – just like in any family – when you’re around each other long enough there can be times when you push one button too many. It happens to the best of us and sometimes it happens more publicly than we’d like.”

“Scott and I are sorry you had to see us on a bad day, and we truly hope we can make it up to you by sharing the best parts of ourselves this season.”

“That’s right. And we’ll be working on a project together, that will hopefully show all our viewers that this team… is stronger than ever.”

“Yes, surprisingly, Scott and I getting a little hit and miss with our holiday decorating was not the biggest Twitter-storm of the weekend.”

“For which we’re truly grateful, eh?”

“That’s true.”

“Actually, it was a heartfelt message from eight-year-old Olivia, a Toronto native, who wants a little bit of help this year finding someone special for Christmas. Our amazing team here at _Good Morning Toronto_ were able to make contact with Olivia and we’ll be speaking to her live on the phone in just a little bit.

“And we hope you’ll stick around for a while to check it out.”

“But before we get to that, let’s take a look at today’s headlines…”

* * *

  
When they cut to commercial thirty minutes later, Maddy leaps over a few camera cables, clipboard in hand, and heads over to the sofa.

“Okay, so, Peter looks happy,” she says.

“He does?” Tessa says, not entirely sure that they'd sold it.

“Is that even possible?” Scott asks.

“Well, I ran into him outside and he grunted,” Maddy replies. “Happily.”

“How do you… grunt happily?” Tessa asks.

“I don’t know. There was a certain… lift to it.”

Tessa and Scott exchange glances.

“What?” Maddy says, looking them up and down.

“Nothing,” Scott replies. “Just proud to be a good little performing monkey, that’s all.”

“Scott,” Tessa says, quietly, her fingers brushing his knee.

Maddy scratches her nose. “Look, guys, I know this situation is less than ideal.”

Tessa doesn’t have to look at Scott to imagine his expression.This was a mess of their own making and truth be told, they'd started this particular brew a long time ago. While she doesn't think Scott is blameless in all this, she also knows she could have been the bigger person about it. She could have tried to mend fences, to talk about it all. She could have tried to reach some common ground with him and she never should have let it get so far beyond her control. Scott is looking at her now, and she has the strangest feeling that he knows what she's thinking. Maddy takes their mutual silence for disbelief.

“Okay, okay, it’s garbage,” she amends. “But we will get through, just… don’t let Catherine’s corporate bullshit ruin a good thing. Have faith. I do. Tess? How’s Liv?”

Tessa tilts her head. Outside of her mother, Jordan, and Scott, Maddy was the only other person who knew.

“She’s good. We talked last night, and she understands that she can’t let anyone know who she is. Or who I am.”

“Good, that’s good,” Maddy says. “I neglected to inform our illustrious Ms. Tait that we didn’t exactly have an _actual_ child to put a face on this, but once you’re on the air it won’t matter. The two of you will be more than enough. Although I’m really sorry that it has to be this way.”

“Me too,” Tessa says, suddenly feeling queasy. 

“Do you want me to check in on Olivia beforehand? I mean I know once you’re on, you guys will coach her through, but I can be on the line ready before then.”

“Thanks, that’ll be great,” Tessa says. “Although I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s really excited to be on the show, actually. She called it a ‘take your daughter to work day’ even if going to work means waiting at home by the phone. God, she’s… doing way better than I am.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” Scott says, giving her a smile. “I mean, you started your day way better than I did.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah. I ran out of milk, so I had to pour eggnog on my cheerios.”

She rolls her eyes as he grins, appreciating the fact he was trying to cheer her up. “You did not.”

“What, and you were there?”

“No,” Tessa replies. “But I know you, and _you_ do not even eat cheerios.”

“Oh, you remember that eh?”

“Uh huh.”

“Thinking about that _Knight’s_ uniform?”

“Oh, yeah, totally hot for a jersey full of sweat.”

“Knight’s uniform?” Maddy says.

“He was a _Knight_ before he was a _Leaf_,” Tessa replies, finding she really can't look at him all of a sudden.

“Who hates cheerios,” Scott says.

“Who hates cheerios,” Tessa repeats.

“She remembers,” Scott says to Maddy. Then he glances at Tess, and she can feel the weight of his gaze.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t call that a win,” Maddy tells him. “Everybody remembers that stunt where you had to cross-rail -”

“Cross roll,” they reply simultaneously.

“Whatever,” Maddy says. “Everybody remembers you cross… rolling… through that line of cereal to get to the other side of the ice. What was it? For every squished hoop, you had to eat one?”

“Three for one,” Tessa says, wishing he would stop looking at her.

“She tried to poison me,” Scott replies.

“And… yet,” Tessa says, spreading her palms and finally turning to give him - what she hopes - is a slightly exasperated look. His eyes are glinting back at her.

“I’m a survivor,” Scott says, turning to Maddy.

“You’re something alright,” Tessa replies, her mouth twitching.

She blinks into his mock offence, giving him a lazy smile.

His rebuttal consists of a one-eyed squint.

“I think I won,” Tessa says. “Did I win?”

“If you have to ask,” Scott replies.

“Okay,” Maddy says. “This could go on all day and my brain is already at capacity, so – Scott, once you’re back on, you do the intro and we’ll have Olivia on the line ready to go. Tess, final say-so, are you good?”

Tessa thinks she should cut tail and run.

“I… you know what, I think I just need a minute okay?” she says, getting up from her seat. “I’ll be right back.”

She can hear Scott whisper “This is not okay” but she’s already heading out the closed set. Resting her head against the wall outside, she takes slow, deep breaths.

Maddy finds her moments later and rests a supportive hand on Tessa’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” Tessa says, her eyes stinging. “I'm trying to breath through it, but I don’t think I can do this, Mads. Olivia is my child. My _child_. I’ve barely had time to process what’s happened, I haven’t even had a chance to sit down with her and explain that no matter how much she may want this… I can’t grant her wish. Not in time for Christmas. And now I have to use her letter to save my _job_? I would rather lose _all_ of this than to see her get hurt. I’ll do the song and dance, Maddy, whatever they want but I’m sorry I don't think I can… I can’t drag her into this.”

It doesn't make her feel any better, getting the words out. But the only thing that really _would_ make her feel better at this point would be going back in time and dealing with her emotions about Scott when she _should_ have - and not waiting a whole year for the inevitable fall out.

Maddy checks her watch.

“I understand,” she says. “Believe me. No one thinks this is shittier than I do. The last thing I want is for you to be stuck with a bunch of strange men pretending to have a good time. Leave this with me. Why don’t you head across to the greenroom, we’ve still got fifteen minutes, let me see what I can come with.”

Tessa nods gratefully, walking across the hall to the studio’s waiting space between sets – it’s mercifully empty. She pours herself a water but the thought of putting anything in her stomach just yet makes her feel sick.

“You okay?” Scott says, poking his head around the door.

“No,” Tessa says, with a sigh.

Scott nods. He looks distinctly uncomfortable, and she wonders how he feels about all this.

“I’m sorry,” she says, feeling completely helpless.

“It’s not your fault.”

“Then why does it feel like it is?” she replies.

“Look, what if we -”

“I thought I could -”

_“Excuse me, Tessa?” _

They turn to find Steve – one of the station’s camera crew – hovering awkwardly outside the room.

“Sorry to interrupt but we were getting a bit of feedback on your mic earlier so we’re going to switch it out before the next segment if that’s okay?”

Tessa nods, clasping her fingers together to keep them from trembling. She can feel Scott’s hand on her arm and can’t help thinking he _must_ be concerned if he’s reaching out to her like that. He’s telling her to sit down, guiding her to a chair, but everything is spinning.

“Uh, Scott?” Steve says, still looking like he'd rather be elsewhere.

“Yeah?”

Tessa tries to focus in on the voice, to shake the fog away.

“Tanya needs you to – um – there was some shine… on your forehead,” Steve mumbles. “So you gotta go… fix that.”

“Right,” Scott says, turning toward Tessa. “Apparently I’ve got a shiny head.”

She smiles, weakly.

“C’mon, eh,” he says. “Set you up with a good one there.”

Her smile is a little bigger this time.

“Go get your head checked,” she says, trying to dig deep. “But I’m telling you now it’s a lost cause.”

He surprises her by placing his hand in her hair, a momentary caress before it’s gone.

She watches him go, Steve still hovering in the wings.

He coughs. “I’ll – uh – go get that mic,” he says, closing the door behind him.

Tessa rests her elbows on her knees and puts her head in her hands. She needs to call her mother and let her know what’s happening, that she should just get Livvie to school, and she’ll explain later. Her mom would understand. And Olivia will understand too, once she talks to her.

She couldn’t control the spread of her daughter’s message – but she could control what was done with it from here on out. Scott was right, Catherine didn’t give a damn about Olivia’s feelings in all this. She just wanted to take advantage of an opportunity to boost ratings, no matter who it embarrassed, or who it hurt. And Tessa was damned if she was going to let anyone use them like this.

She gets up, her legs feeling a little stronger now.

Time to find Scott, put their heads together, and do a little brainstorming. They were good at this, they could think on their feet, they’ve certainly been in worse jams than trying to drum up Christmas cheer.

_We can run circles around morning sofas everywhere_, she thinks, heading for the door.

She stops, exhales, and nods.

“You’ve got this, Virtue,” she says, reaching for the handle and pulling it towards her.

It doesn’t budge.

She tries again, adding a little more pressure than before, but the result is the same.

Dammit. This door was always temperamental, although usually it was nothing that a good tug couldn’t fix.

“Hello?” she says, banging her fist against the door to get somebody’s attention. “Is anybody out there? Hello?”

She tries the handle again – for all the good it will do - repeating the action until her wrist begins to ache and she’s forced to accept the inevitable truth.

The door was stuck.

* * *

  
Scott tugs on his jacket, straightening out any creases before perching on the arm of the sofa.

Off to one side, he can see the large screen monitor broadcasting from stage two – some antique ornament collector from Saskatchewan is holding up a wise man that looks more like bride of Chucky. He’s relieved it’s not them doing the interview.

Maddy appears in front of him, looking her usual harassed self.

“Can you imagine if Tess and I had to sit here after last Friday and have a guy show us a thousand different baubles?” he says. “I couldn’t keep a straight face. Is she on her way? Because I think we’ve totally found our lead in.”

“I don’t know,” Maddy replies. She looks a little panicked.

“What do you mean, you _don’t_ know?” Scott says. “She was just in the greenroom.”

“I sent a runner to find her, they said Steve just got back from changing her mic over, he said she wasn’t there anymore, I don’t know where she is.”

“She didn’t look so good earlier,” Scott says. “Have you checked the washroom?”

“Doing that now,” she replies. “But we’re out of time. You’re on in thirty, and I’m sorry you’re just going to have to wing this.”

“_Without _Tess?” Scott says. “Maddy, I don’t do well solo, you know that. I need my buffer. How the hell am I supposed to know if I’m doing the right thing?”

“You’re just going to have to deal with that, Scott, because we’re out of time.”

He hears the ten-second call, watches Maddy’s apologetic expression as she hurries out of the frame, and takes a deep breath.

_What the fuck does he do now?_

Over in the sound booth, behind all the cameras and crew, he spots the tiny figure of Catherine’s assistant, lurking in the shadows. Her eyes meet his, cold and indifferent – and then she’s gone - and it’s just him, the camera, and a stomach full of lead.

Scott summons his best smile, squaring himself off to face the city alone, without any optimism, without so much as a clue, and now - for the first time in his television career – without Tess.  
  


* * *

  
Tessa watches from the greenroom, her cheeks between her hands.

She can see the tension in his shoulders, the square set of his jaw that gives him away. It’s subtle and he’s covering well, but she knows he’s uncomfortable and it’s strange watching him from the outside, looking so lost. Out of the two of them, she would always have said that he was the more confident, certainly the more out-going – but seeing him now she can’t help but wonder if maybe the reason their tug of war worked is because of their equal-weighted push and pull. It created a balance that made sense – if only to them – and it was hard for her to watch him like this, feeling so uneven.

She’d laughed when he’d covered her absence – claiming she’d feared for their partnership with the showcase of loose baubles next door and had left him to fend for himself. He’d made a show of checking behind the sofa and casting about the room, as if she lay in hiding somewhere. At one point, a decoration got lobbed his way – Tessa presumed it was Maddy, who would be dual functioning right now on one-part terror over her absence, one-part the show must go on. Scott had leaped onto the back of the sofa, hitting the enormous tree behind him, and sent half a dozen other decorations flying.

He’d grinned sheepishly but Tessa knows the audience would have loved it. He was a natural goof, even if he did look a little displaced.

She tried the door a few more times, knowing it was useless, all the while fighting the dread she knew was coming. Without her there on stage beside him, whatever was coming would look like a deliberate set-up. People weren’t stupid, and eventually they’d catch on to the fact her absence felt more like a blind-side. In many respects it was, but they needed this to look good, and from the outside looking in, Scott would seem complicit when, after all this, he was actually one of the few people on her side right now.

Looking up at the screen on the wall, Scott’s face staring out at her, she breathes a long, slow sigh, then kicks her heel against the door of the greenroom, wondering for the thousandth time, why no one had thought to check it.

She blinks back tears, powerless to do anything but watch - and hope like hell her partner could pull this off without her.

  
_“Y’know, one of the greatest things about the holiday season,” _Scott says,_ “is that so many of us all over the world celebrate the act of giving. But for many of us, it’s also a time of wishing, of reflection, and of thinking about where we are in our lives, and maybe, just maybe, where we’d like to be.”_

Tessa walks forward toward the television, as if being closer to him will somehow make this easier.

_“One wish that’s certainly gained a lot of attention belongs to eight-year-old Olivia, who captured hearts by wishing for a dad this Christmas. Now for all of us who’ve seen the video, we also know that alongside wishing for a father, Olivia was also wishing for that someone special to win her mother’s heart. While we weren’t able to bring her into the studio today, we are able to speak with her so that she can share a little about why this is so important to her and why she chose the Internet for help. And, for those of you – like me - who might find it a little odd that I’m up here by myself right now, the Virtch and I felt it was more important that she support Olivia directly. Being alone on television is… pretty terrifying… as I am learning by the minute!”_

Tessa can’t help but smile even through her racing heartbeat. Scott was thinking on his feet and she can’t help but think this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d come to the rescue of a Virtue. She could only hope he’d guide Olivia through this without turning their lives into a farce.

A small window appears on the right-hand side of the screen – it’s a simple screenshot that reads “Beating Christmas”.

_“Hi Olivia,”_ Scott was saying.

_“Hi, Scott Moir,”_ Olivia replies.

Scott smiles, no doubt thinking about Olivia’s penchant for calling him by his full name.

_“How are you doing this morning?”_ he says. _“You must be getting ready for school, eh?”_

_“I’m all dressed,”_ she replies. _“And I just finished eating.”_

_“Oh really? What did you have for breakfast this morning?”_

There’s a pause followed by a giggle.

_“Cheerios.”_

Scott rolls his eyes affectionately.

_“Now I know you watched Battle of the Blades last year and I think you said that on purpose,”_ he replies, with a grin.

_“Mayyybe,” _comes the reply.

Tessa shakes her head. Scott had simply switched one Virtue for another and got the same result.

She bounces on the balls of her feet, shaking her wrists and getting rid of the pent-up nerves firing through her system. Her mother would be by Liv’s side, she knows that, but she’d also be wondering where the hell her daughter was and why she’d free-wheeled this particular moment to Scott without warning.

And suddenly she’s angry. The weight of the weekend from hell tipping the scales, and sending her emotions reeling. She should be out there. If it had to go down like this, she should be with her kid. Instead she’s stuck in this godforsaken room with nothing but her own anger to fuel her. She could have stopped this, she should have been there with Scott before the segment, they could have come with something – anything – something that didn’t mean –

There’s a soft click behind her and a grinding crunch as the greenroom door swings open. Tessa spins ‘round in relief and finds Clara standing at the door.

The weight in Tessa’s chest gets heavier. She feels like she’s swallowed bricks.

“Catherine would like to see you,” Clara says, without preamble.

“I need to be on set,” Tessa says. “I’ve been stuck in here since the break, I have to get out there.”

Clara stares blankly as if Tessa’s words are meaningless.

“She wants to see you _now_,” Clara replies.

“I really don’t care what Catherine wants,” Tessa tells her. “I will _see _her after the show.”

Clara blinks, unfazed.

“Scott just told the entire city where you were. If you walk on set now, you’ll both be branded liars and you’re back to having your integrity questioned. Unless that’s what you want.”

Tessa knows neither she nor Scott could afford that, but her instincts were fighting it anyway.

“Catherine is waiting,” Clara says, stepping to one side so that Tessa can walk ahead of her. One of the studio lots security guys is hovering nearby, looking uncomfortable.

Tessa takes one last look at the monitor – where a repeat of Olivia’s video begins to play – and follows him out, with Catherine’s assistant bringing up the rear. She tries to smile, to find any kind of solidarity between them, but Clara is indifferent to her attempts and shows nothing but irritation that she even had to come down here at all.

Closing her eyes for a second, she tries to imagine that none of this happening, that someone couldn’t be this cruel. But try as she might, she can’t get rid of the image of Clara shoving her hands into her jacket pockets, and the suspicious feeling that one of those hands contained a key.  
  


* * *

  
Tessa can feel eyes on her as she’s ushered through the building, their confusion evident every time they glance from her to a television, wondering why she’s not on it. She rides the elevator to the executive floor, every muscle in her body tense, every bone preparing for a fight.

When she steps out, she heads straight for Catherine’s office, not bothering to wait for Clara who’d have to attempt a slow jog to keep up with Tessa’s stride. She doesn’t knock, just opens the door and shuts it neatly in Clara’s face without looking back.

Catherine peers up from her high-backed chair, seemingly unperturbed by the lack of decorum.

“Ah, Tessa,” she says. “I expect you’re wondering why I needed to see you so urgently.”

“No, I have a pretty good idea,” Tessa replies, not giving an inch.

Catherine presses her lips into a thin smile. “Take a seat.”

“I’d rather stand, thank you,” Tessa says. “I’d like to get back to set as soon as possible.”

Catherine stares down her nose, over the rims of her glasses, and Tessa prays the throbbing pulse in her neck isn’t visible.

“Suit yourself,” Catherine replies, glancing to the large Apple monitor on her desk.

Tessa follows her gaze.

“A bit of a fish out of water, isn’t he?” Catherine says, nodding at Scott.

Tessa waits while she drags the mouse over the volume, turning it up a little.

_“You made a pretty big wish there,”_ he was saying.

_“Yeah,”_ Olivia replies. _“But we should never be afraid of dreaming big.”_

_“I like that,” _Scott says.

_“My mom says that if you set yourself a goal and you put the work in, you’ll see the success.”_

_“That’s good advice. You and your mom must be really close.”_

_“Yeah, we are. She’s the best.”_

_“How does she feel about you wishing for a dad?”_

_“Well,”_ Olivia replies, drawing it out. _“I think she wishes I hadn’t put it on the Internet.”_

Scott laughs and Tessa can’t help but smile.

“He seems to be doing alright to me,” Tessa tells Catherine. “Why am I here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Catherine replies. “Because I knew you’d try to weasel out of this. First indication was when Maddy said we’d only be speaking to her via telephone – despite my specifically requesting we get the child in here. Second indication was when she called up a little while ago with concerns that I was putting you under undue pressure. I knew what was coming.”

“I would hardly call protecting a little girl ‘weaseling’,” Tessa says

Catherine waves a dismissive hand. “That child will be fine. And at the end of the day, this is not about her.”

Tessa balks at the arrogance. “And yet you seem absolutely fine using her as the kick-start to some desperate grab for ratings.”

Catherine cocks her head. Tessa thinks she looks like a velociraptor – she was certainly no less dangerous.

“Well. Perhaps if you had better control over your emotions you wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place,” she says. “Instead of here, with Scott, trying to find another way to save your jobs.”

Tessa has no idea what to say to that, the guilt was too pressing.

“By all means, pull out,” Catherine says. “It’s your prerogative. But make no mistake _you’ll_ be the one explaining to _Scott_, why you’re nullifying your contract so close to the finish line. And I _highly_ doubt he will be so forgiving given all the effort he’s going to save it.”

Tessa glances at the screen, trying to pair her reality as it stands with Scott’s words to her that morning – that they’d do this together.

“Do us all a favour and play the game, Tessa,” Catherine says. “So, you go on a few measly dates in the name of ‘research’. Who is that going to harm? Certainly not you, Olympic gold medalist Tessa Virtue, a Canadian darling, capable of limitless potential.”

The lump in her throat feels like glass, the culmination of guilt well and truly wedged within. Her mother had always taught her to hold her head high in the face of adversity – she’d needed it to survive the toxic atmosphere of competitive skating – but now she’s beginning to wonder how long you could possibly continue to stand tall, when others are so determined to take shots at you.

She looks at Catherine, sipping a mug of something hot and glancing through some papers as if she’d already forgotten Tessa was there.

She takes that as her cue to exit and reaches for the door handle, feeling completely sucker-punched.

“Word to the wise, Tessa dear,” Catherine says, looking up from her desk. “Don’t let your partner down. It won’t be a good look for you.”

Tessa can feel her legs shaking, a desperate need to sit down coursing through her. She opens the door, ignoring Clara and her stern, disapproving gaze, but doesn’t make it more than a few feet before she needs the wall for support. She takes a deep breath and tries to force the strength back into her.

It’s Scott who brings her out of it, his warm, familiar voice, centering her inner compass. Still holding the wall for support, she draws her eyes up to the large screen in front of her.

_“Well, a lot of people wrote in, Olivia,”_ he was saying. _“And they were really touched by your message and by how much you meant it. And I’m sure there are a lot of grown-ups out there who can relate to how hard it is sometimes to get out, meet people and find that someone special.”_

“_It’s hard for kids too,”_ Olivia replies. _“Not meeting people of course, I just wave at them in the hall, say ‘hello’, and bam! I meet them. But… after I wished for a dad… I realized that - actually - I don’t really know what a good dad is supposed to be like. I know what my mom is like – she’s the greatest – but dads? Who knows! But I really want to know! I want to hear from… every kid in Toronto – or Canada even! Like… what is a good dad? What makes him so great? What kinds of things do you guys do together? I think… I think I need to know that first because if I know it, then I can help look out for it. Does that make sense?”_

Scott is nodding, his eyes so wide that Tessa knows they mirror her own.

_“It does, Olivia,”_ he says. _“It really does.”_

_“Christmas is so magical,”_ Olivia continues, _“You said that yourselves and I really believe it. It’s a time for good things to happen and I want to be able to look at any dad and go ‘yep, level four difficulty, plus five grade of execution’.”_

Scott laughs and Tessa tries not to think about the fact that anyone who watches figure skating will know _exactly_ what Olivia just said.

_"And I’ll bet you’d like someone who’ll be there for you, right, like your mom is?” _Scott continues.

_“Right,”_ Olivia replies. _“But I’m going to need a little help with that.”_

_“Well, we’ve got your back, Olivia,” _Scott says._ “Tessa and I put our heads together and we thought the best way _we_ can help, is to help _you_ figure out what makes a great dad. And everyone here at Good Morning Toronto would like to hear from all of _you_ at home. So, you can send us your texts, tweets, and videos, and we’ll feature them right here on our show. Let us know what you and your dads get up to in the holiday season – or all year ‘round. And if you’d like to actually _be_ on the show, Tessa and I would love to interview you live – whether it’s… golfing, building snowmen or even… making pancakes. We’ll just make sure we have a fire extinguisher on hand. And hey, I’m going to throw myself in there and test out all the things that make your dads so special. And Olivia - you can judge how we’re getting along.”_

“What the _hell_ is he doing?” Catherine says, spitting out her tea.

“I think he’s… changing the game,” Tessa says, her strength returning.

“_How does that sound kid? Will that help you out?”_

_“Definitely!”_

“This was not what we agreed,” Catherine says, storming out of her office and into the reception.

Tessa smiles. “Technically you said we had to play the game,” she says. “You didn’t specify how we had to play it.”

Catherine turns pale with anger, but Tessa ignores her, focusing her attention back on Scott – and Olivia.

_“Actually, I already have an idea about that,” _Olivia was saying.

_“Oh really?” _Scott says. _“I’m all ears.”_

_“Well,”_ Olivia tells him. _“It’s great to have the dads to do the dad stuff but it’d be really weird if _you _had to date them too.”_

Scott is openly laughing. _“Yep. Yep. I see that,”_ he says. _"I mean... I could give it a try?"_

_"No, silly, I mean if you're doing the dad stuff too, you can't see it from my mom's side."_

_"You're right. I'd probably just be out there talking to myself."_

_“Mm hm. And I _know _your bosses probably need you to make up for the fact that you were all over the Internet,”_ Olivia replies. _“Trust me, I know all about consequences.”_

_“Uh, huh,” _Scott says, clearly waiting to see where Olivia was going with this.

_“They probably wanted you to do something lame like... pretend to test people out for… my mom.”_

_“And you don’t want that?”_

_“No, I mean… I want my mom to be happy and I don't want people to pretend they like her when they don't even know her. Or me. And if I do get a dad for Christmas… then I want him to treat her right. ”_

Tessa puts a hand to her chest.

_“So, how can we help with that, Olivia?”_ Scott says.

_“I think… by showing me what that’s supposed to look like, because maybe... maybe then I'll understand,”_ she says. _“And that’s why you’re the best qualified.”_

_“To do what, exactly?”_

_“I watch your show every day,”_ Olivia says. _“And it’s not the Virtue and Moir show for nothing. So, if you’re going to do the dad stuff, you’re going to have to do the mom stuff too.”_

Tessa doesn’t know whether to cover her mouth or her eyes.

_“It’ll be fun,” _Olivia says._ “You get to show the world what it’s like to date Tessa Virtue.”_

“What?” Tessa says.

_“Wait, what?”_ Scott says, clearly trying to work out he just handed over the show to an eight-year-old.

_“So, what do you say Scott Moir?” _Olivia says._ “Are you ready to show everybody what you’ve got and help a girl out here?”_

The ten seconds of dead air are the longest in Tessa’s life.

She stares at the screen and she knows that Scott’s looking right back at her, a memory passing between them.

_“Okay kid,”_ he replies, bobbing his head up and down. _“You’ve got yourself a deal.”_

* * *


	7. Love at Frost Sight

“Please tell me that my child did not just set me up on a date with Scott Moir.”

_“Well if you want to get technical about it,”_ Jordan says. _“She sent you on a quest to find the perfect dad… and _then_ set you up on a date with Scott Moir.”_

Thank you, Jo, for that clarification,” Tessa replies.

_“Part of the service.”_

“Okay but if you’re not careful, in the new year, I’ll be changing my provider.”

Jordan laughs. _“Where are you anyway? It sounds busy.”_

“I’m in the Loblaws on Queen West,” Tessa replies, scooting her cart nearer to the apples. “In the fruit section – please come rescue me.”

_“Is Liv organising the bananas?”_

“Oh yeah. The store assistants ain’t got nothin’ on her.”

“Is that JeJe?” Olivia says, appearing beside her with a bundle in her arms. “Tell her I say ‘hi’.”

“Livvie says ‘hi’.”

_“Tell her I say ‘hi’ back.”_

“JeJe says ‘hi’ back,” Tessa says, watching her daughter lay her assortment carefully inside the cart.

“There we go,” Olivia says. “Two green, two semi-greens, two semi-yellows, two yellows, and two _very_ yellows.”

“You’re crazy,” Tessa whispers, wrinkling her nose and kissing the top of Olivia’s head.

“It just makes sense,” Olivia replies. “You start with the very yellows and by the time you move on to the next in the bunch, they’re right where you want them to be. Perfectly ripe. It’s the law of bananas.”

_“Did you question the bananas?”_ Jordan says.

“I questioned the bananas,” Tessa replies.

“_Never_ question the bananas,” Olivia says, pointing her finger up in the air and desperately trying to keep a straight face.

Tessa bends over so their faces are level. It doesn’t take much for Olivia to break into giggles. Tessa kisses her on the nose.

“Where to next?” Tessa says.

Olivia glances down the list.

“Mm, we need butter, sugar, eggs, baking powder…”

_“Baking powder?”_ Jordan says. “Please tell me you have a fire extinguisher.”

"Oh relax," Tessa replies. "We're making Christmas cookies, it's not like I'm making a soufflé."

_“And for that we are truly grateful.”_

“Your support is overwhelming.”

_“That’s my job!”_

“Yeah, yeah. Oh wait, hold on, I just lost Liv to chocolate chips.”

_“Girl after my own heart.”_

“White, milk, or dark?” Olivia says.

_“All three,”_ Jordan replies.

“_You_ are not helping,” Tessa says.

_“Hey, I was just thinking that if you buy enough ingredients now, then you can make more cookies on your date with Scott – and then, y’know – make something else entirely in the bedroom.”_

“Jordan, I am not…” She switches her phone from one ear to the other and lowers her voice. “I am not _going_ on a date with Scott. None of this is real.”

_“Hm… does Scott know this?”_

“Scott is… just trying to make the best of a bad situation. He’s in as much trouble as I am.”

_“Really?”_ Jordan says. _“Because it looks to me like _he_ was trying to come to _your_ rescue.”_

“I do not _need_ rescuing,” Tessa says.

_“Well, I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time.”_

“Don’t start.”

_“Who’s starting?”_ Jordan replies. _“I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, that man has had a thing for you since the day you met.”_

“Jo, you didn’t even know him then.”

_“Yes, but I have a sense.”_

“You have _nothing_.”

_“I’m telling you now, the reason you have such a hard time with each other is because you both left too much on the ice after Battle of the Blades, you didn’t give him a chance.”_

“He didn’t _want_ a chance. We’ve been through this.”

_“Maybe not _then_ but… I don’t know… what if he’s changed his mind? What if the whole ‘not getting along’ thing is just… deflection?”_

“You’re buying into it.”

_“Into what?”_

“It’s a performance, Jo,” Tessa says. “Everything we do and everything we are is for the cameras. It was the pact we made to get through. You were there last year, you know what happened after, please can you just be on my side in all this? I just need someone in my life who isn’t going to use me as a punchline.”

“Hey,” Jordan says. “I will always have your back little sis. That I promise you.”

“Thank you.”

_“So, how did your boss react to the whole -”_

“Hey Mom, look!” Olivia says, calling from the other side of the aisle. “Cheerios.”

Tessa rolls her eyes while Olivia giggles.

_“Tell her to throw them in the cart.”_ Jordan says. _“Then you can thread them with string and make a garland for your front door. That’ll stop him.”_

“Solid plan,” Tessa replies.

_“Or, you know, you could actually talk to the guy about what happened today, instead of doing the usual and dancing circles ‘round each other.”_

“I’m hanging up now.”

_“Chicken.”_

“Yeah, yeah,” Tessa replies, ending the call and waiting for Olivia to catch up.

“We should send a picture to Scott Moir,” Olivia says. “As a joke. I think he’d find it – Mom?”

“Mm?” Tessa says, dragging her eyes away from the box of cereal.

“You looked weird for a second there.”

“Sorry bean, I got distracted. What was that?”

“I said we should take a picture of the Cheerios and send a picture to Scott Moir,” Olivia says. “He’d like that, right?”

“Sure, why not?” Tessa says, suddenly too tired to argue.

Olivia beams, still clutching the box while Tessa takes a picture.

“All done,” Tessa says.

“Are you sending it now?”

Oh yeah, because that’s just what she needs to top off this day.

“Sure,” she replies, wishing her child wasn’t clambering on tip toes in order to see.

She adds the picture in the message window -

  
_ Liv thought you’d like this  
  
_ \- and hits send.

“Come on, you, let’s grab the rest of this stuff and get out of here.”

“Okay!”

By the time she pulls into her drive twenty minutes later, there’s a message waiting for her.  
  


like mother like daughter eh 🤨

* * *

**London, Ontario**

some years ago now…

  
  
“Okay, so you see that guy… Harris… he just won the puck battle. See the way he’s positioning himself so his opponent can’t get at it? He’s sticking his body in between _that_ guy and the puck, that’s the key. Now he’s gonna spin off his defender – oh, oh yeah, here we go, see that? That’s a drop pass to Moir – he’s tipped for the _Leafs_ next season – watch this, check the flip pass out right here – YES! Come on, baby, that’s how you do it. Yes, c’mon. C’mon boys. Pass! Go! GO KNIGHTS GO! Yes! YES!”

Tessa props her elbow on one knee, putting her cheek in one hand while the crowd leaps up around her. It’s not that she doesn’t like hockey – she loves hockey – she just doesn’t like having it explained to her by some guy she barely knows who thinks he’s being helpful.

His name is Adam, he’s a web-based video game software developer, and he’s about as appealing as a wet sock. He’s good looking in that care-free, floppy-haired, nerdy kind of way but talking is not his strong suit – unless he’s talking about himself. Or trying to explain how things work.

The one question he’d asked her – the standard awkward lull in dinner conversation of “So, what is it you do, exactly?” was met with a loud guffaw and a casual dig that being a figure skater (even if she was now retired) means she should be used to the cold. When they’d met at the tables outside the market – she, fifteen minutes early, he, ten minutes late - she’d only mentioned the weather for want of something to say (even though she really _was_ cold) – but apparently Adam of the “HTML5 technology variety” did not need interrupting.

She sighs.

This is not what Tessa had in mind when she said she wanted to get out more. But she didn’t exactly feel that she’d been in any position to turn it down. After all, she’s nearly twenty-three years old… and this is the first date she’s had in – well – forever.

She does her best to focus on the game, _Knights_ are down by one and Budweiser Gardens is packed. Sure, it wouldn’t have been her initial choice for a first date, but at least there were plenty of distractions.

Although she could do without the running commentary beside her.

At intermission she dials her sister.

_“This better be good,”_ Jordan says. _“I’m watching America’s Next Top Model.”_

“Help me,” Tessa whispers.

_“Where are you? What’s that noise?”_

“I’m in a washroom at a _Knights’_ game,” Tessa says.

_“You’re in a wash – why the hell are you at a Knights’ game? I thought you were on a date.”_

“I am,” Tessa says, tightly.

_“Ohhhhh,”_ Jordan replies. _“And now you’re hiding.”_

“I have to, it’s going terribly!”

_“Ugh, what kind of guy takes a girl to a hockey game on the first date?”_

“He already had the tickets.”

_“Let me guess… he didn’t want to waste them?”_

“Ding, ding, ding,” Tessa replies.

“Did he at least take you to dinner first?”

“Yeah, but I was too nervous to eat. I barely managed a bit of my burger.”

“Burger? This guy sounds like a real winner.”

“I don’t know what to do!”

_“How many periods left?”_

“We just finished the second.”

_“Okay, so, why don’t you just… leave?”_

“Leave?”

_“Yeah, as in… walk out.”_

“Jordan, I can’t do that!”

_“Why?_

“Because it’s embarrassing!”

_“To who?”_ Jordan says. _“You just met the guy. Nobody’s going to care.”_

“Mom will care,” Tessa replies. “She set the whole thing up… a friend of a friend of a friend type thing.”

_“Wow, yeah, sure… absolutely true love then.”_

“Jordan!”

_“What do you want me to do, Tess? I’m two hundred kilometers away. Just call Mom, tell her it’s not going well and go home.”_

“I can’t… go home, Jo,” Tessa says. “This is the first time I’ve been out by myself in… God knows how long. Mom really wanted me to have a good time. I can’t let her down.”

_“Tess, you have worked your ass off your whole life,”_ Jordan says. _“You’ve won two Olympics, you split your legs open to get there, and you’ve done more to inspire young skaters everywhere. You’ve also had a crazy, exhausting few months. Trust me, if anyone deserves a night off from life right now, it’s you. Just. Leave. Go home and have the night to yourself for once.”_

“Fine,” Tessa says, miserably, unable to stomach the thought of whatever Software Adam might think about her abandoning him.

She flushes the toilet and gets out of the stall, washing her hands quickly and letting them drip dry. The people waiting in line are looking at her curiously, as if they’re trying to work out if she is who she is, and she ducks her head quickly, still surprised that anyone would recognize her at all. Or maybe it’s a local thing. This is home after all, and she’s been a feature of the London press since she was seven.

It’s heaving with people when she steps outside the washroom, a line of women still snaking off to one side, children dashing in and out between their parent’s legs, people grabbing beers and popcorn and hot dogs the size of a small country. And that’s probably a good thing, she thinks, it means she can make a quick getaway –

“Hey, there you are,” Adam says. Tall, gangly-legged Adam who clearly used his considerable height for evil. “I was beginning to think I’d lost you.”

“Oh…no,” Tessa says, summoning a smile from deep within. “It was a long line.”

“I got us some popcorn,” he says. “We should head back to our seats.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Tessa says, letting her head drop back, before shutting her eyes, a quick momentary prayer for strength.

“Hey, you know there are actually six major types of corn,” Adam says. “Yep, there are special varieties grown to give improved popping yield.”

Oh dear God, Tessa thinks.  
  


* * *

  
The third period is about as successful as the first two in terms of how the date is going. For the _Knights_, though, things were looking up.

They’d scored twice in twelve minutes and the crowd was certainly spurring them on.

Adam has momentarily lost interest in her – which she counts as a blessing – and she uses the break in one-sided conversation to plan her exit strategy. She’d taken a cab into the city, so she was going to have to take one home – there’s not a chance she was letting this guy drive her. She had zero intentions of seeing him again, and she’d rather he didn’t know where she lived. All she needed to figure out now, was how to lose him without him noticing. Fortunately for her, she was in a building with nine thousand other people – so it shouldn’t be too hard to disappear.

“WOO-YEAH!” Adam roars, alongside the crowd. “THAT’S RIGHT, BABY! NICE SAVE!”

Tessa glances at him out the corner of her eyes. There isn’t an inch of him that isn’t focused on the group of men on the ice.

Heck if she slipped away now while the game was still going… he might not even notice.

She looks to her left, down the row of seats. Too many legs. She’d never get by without having to make them all stand to let her pass. Tessa was stuck here until it was over.

Six minutes to go. Score is tied again. The crowd is pulsing with tension.

She feels warm and a little nauseous – the anxiety and empty stomach starting to fire warning shots at her synapses – and Tessa throws her coat off to bring her body temperature down. There are enough people in the arena to prevent any chill from the ice reaching her.

They’re getting restless though, not satisfied with anything less than a win. She focuses on the game, watching the puck being passed back and forth, thinking of the motion like a ticking clock – each pass bringing her one second closer to getting the hell out of here.

Their seats are pretty good and she’s close enough to read the names on their jerseys rather than having to rely on the jumbotron above them. Moir just swept up the puck and made a flip pass to someone else. She finds herself watching his feet as he guns down the ice, the way he turns on his blade at high speed ready to receive the pass back to his stick. His pace is incredible, but she can tell it’s his edges that set him apart. She knows the Moirs – well – knows _of_ them at least. Her first coach was a Moir, and she still buys her skates from their shop. She wonders vaguely, if this was one of the Moir boys she used to see around the old rink in Ilderton. She wouldn’t be surprised – just like she’s not surprised how much skill any Moir has on the ice. The guy was clearly born for this.

Her eyes are still on him when one of his teammates whacks the puck across the ice toward goal, where Moir is waiting to pick it up. He goes down and smashes into the boards before he can make the shot.

And then all hell breaks loose.

To her right Adam is yelling about a Tripping infraction and her eyes dart quickly to the referee who is already making the signal. But then, just as quickly, his hand is in the air and Tessa’s eyes are at the boards again. Moir was down on his stomach when a guy from the other team – a guy she’d heard Adam call “dirty” earlier in the game, and the same guy who Moir had blocked from defending the puck – gave him a kick from behind with his boot.

Moir was up on his feet and spinning ‘round seconds later but there were already five other guys, including two officials, getting themselves involved. There’s another player now, to his right, shoving him hard and holding onto his shirt. Moir shoves back, then moves, pulling the guy along while skating backwards. The guy lets go and Moir loops the net to the other side. There are gloves and helmets everywhere as the chaos descends into a line brawl. The crowd’s displeasure is thunderous.

Tessa winces as players and officials are caught in a tug of war, with nobody seemingly relenting. They’re being pulled to the ground left, right and centre and nobody seems to be in a position to gain any control. The crowd’s booing intensifies. The guy who started it all is being physically removed from the ice – the referee himself ushering him off by pushing him backwards towards the tunnel, the crowd screaming at him all the while. Moir looks like he’s trying to move his teammates away, but tempers are up, and where one fight ends, another one seems to begin.

There’s a minute and twenty seconds left in the game, but nobody seems too concerned about finishing anything right now.

She watches Moir skirt around, trying to clear some of the equipment off the ice when someone deliberately shoves their stick at his knees. His reflexes are fast, and he manages to stop his fall with his hands, and one of the officials is dragging the other guy away, pulling him towards the bench. Moir smacks the ice in frustration.

The _Knights_ bench is not far below where they’re sitting, and she can see their coach rallying the team around him. Moir has just joined them, dumping a handful of discarded gear on the floor. He takes off his helmet, shaking his hair out, and accepting the water bottle that’s been passed to him. There’s a cut on his head and he looks pissed.

Not that she blames him.

The officials are now standing in a group, clearly trying to work out who did what to whom and whether or not to give the delayed penalty.

After what feels like a lifetime, the penalty is called. The _Knights_ still have one last shot at goal.

Tessa is relieved – in a weird way – when Moir is back out on the ice. They’re a man up and they can win this – all they have to do is put it in the net.

…

And they do.  
  


* * *

  
She’s back in the washroom – trying to strategize.

As far as she’s concerned, this ‘date’ is over. She made it through. She should just walk up to him now, thank him for a lovely evening, and say goodbye. It isn’t complicated.

“Come on, Virtue,” she says. “You survived locker rooms more challenging than this. You can do it. Plus, he has your coat.”

Tessa finds him hovering near a concession stand not far from the exit. She forces her mouth into what she hopes is a smile.

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she says, following her own script.

“Yeah, yeah, sure, so I was thinking,” he says. “We could go back to my place. My roommates won’t mind. They’ll probably be up playing a game or two, but we can hunker down in the bedroom. I can drive you home after.”

After what? Tessa thinks, knowing her script had suddenly run out of lines.

“Um,” she says, looking down toward her purse. “You know what? I think I left my phone in the washroom. I’ll be right back.”

Screw the coat, she thinks, walking right by the line to the ladies. I’ve done my due.  
  


* * *

  
Tessa loops the arena, keeping one eye over her shoulder in case she was being followed. She’s officially ridiculous, she realizes this, but she can’t exactly walk out in minus temperatures dressed like she is. She’d need to hit the _Knights_ store first, and for that, she needed to make sure the coast was clear, and that Adam had taken the hint.

Turns out, he hadn’t, and Tessa finds he’s waiting for her exactly where she left him. Although now he looks irritated. She backs up slowly, making her way down one of the tunnels and coming out into the emptying stands. She jogs along one of the rows, forcing herself lower and lower until she’s almost level with the ice. There’s a clean-up crew already working but they’re mostly ignoring her – there are still enough people around that she doesn’t look overly suspicious.

She stops when she reaches the railing, a direct barrier to the ice below and the long tunnel that marks the players’ entrance beneath her. She knows where she is. She’s competed here. It wouldn’t be difficult for her to just… find another way.

Tessa takes one last look behind her – Adam is somewhere farther up having stepped back into the arena to look for her. She doesn’t wait to see if he’s spotted her or not. Instead, she grips the metal railing, and throws herself right over.

Surprisingly, no one questions her presence. Probably due to the fact that she knows where she’s going, but she doesn’t want to risk it, so she ducks into an empty room just in case, in order to wait it out.

A troop of players trudge past her sometime later – not _Knights_ judging by the colour of their jackets – loaded with gear. They look freshly showered, and the security escorts at the front must mean they’re on their way to the bus.

Tessa takes that as her cue to move and she checks the coast is clear, before heading out in the opposite direction.

It’s a little busier this way – with players leaving locker rooms and tossing energy drinks at each other. She’s stopped by a couple _Knights_ players who ask if she’s okay and she tells them she’s looking for Dex. It’s the first name she recalls off the top of her head and she knows he drives the Zamboni. They give her directions and she slips away, letting the sea of _Knights _disperse around her.

She checks her watch, wondering if she should give it more time, or if it was safe to leave. There’s a security guard somewhere behind her – about two hundred feet away – eyeing her in a way that makes her nervous. Like he knows she shouldn’t be here. She uses the next group of players passing by to duck behind them and disappear down into the bowels of the rink.

Tessa doesn’t know whether to run or hide – the absolute ridiculousness of this night taking over her senses and bringing about fresh panic. She hears the voice of the guard talking to the other players, asking them if they’d seen a young lady come this way.

Oh God, she thinks, I’m going to be arrested.

She darts her way further down the hallway she’s in, recognizing the door to one of the locker rooms ahead of her.

Nothing for it now, Virtue, she thinks, and heads straight for it.

It opens before she can get to it and she skids to a stop in front of the guy standing there. He looks stunned by her presence, and concerned by how hard she’s breathing, but she really doesn’t have time to explain herself. The guard is on her tail – she can hear his boot steps sounding off the floor – and any minute now he’d round the corner and see her.

So, Tessa Virtue does the only thing she can think of to do.

She grabs the guy by the lapels of his jacket – vaguely recognizing him by the cut on his head as the Moir boy with the very good edges – and crashes her lips down on his.

Miraculously, he doesn’t object.

The guard comes into view, just as she’s pulling away, horrified with what she’s done.

“Oh, uh, hey,” the guard says. “She with you, Scott?”

Tessa can feel her heart beating in her ears, and she lifts her eyes to the guy in front of her, waiting for him to give her away.

“Um, yeah,” he replies, drawing his eyes from her to the guard. She can feel his arms wrapping in around her waist – nothing that made her uncomfortable but everything to let her know he wasn’t about to give her up. “It’s okay. She’s with me, Mike.”

“Okay,” the guard says, with a two-fingered salute before backing off and heading back to his rounds.

Tessa stares in his direction until his footsteps start to fade, before she realizes she’s still wrapped in the embrace of a complete stranger. She turns her head toward him and finds him staring right back at her.

“Hi,” he says, amusement in his eyes.

“Hello,” she replies, incapable of anything more.

“I’m Scott,” he says, still searching her face.

Tessa, still pretty spooked, keeps looking around her.

“This is the part where you tell me _your_ name,” Scott says.

She releases a breath, short and fast, and tries to swallow against the threatening panic. The guy is looking at her with a lot of concern and she can feel him move his arms from the small of her back, his hands coming to rest on her elbows.

“Are you okay?” he says. "Are you in trouble? Do you need help?"

“Yes… I… Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, do you… do you need to sit down?”

“Um, no. No. This is good I just…”

There’s another set of footsteps getting nearer.

“Oh shit,” Tessa says, pushing him backwards through the open doorway and into the locker room.

The guy – Scott – is sandwiched between her and the door and she just hopes like hell her eyes are communicating that she is absolutely not a crazy person.

The handle moves and Tessa ducks her head down, the tip just resting below his chin. She feels his hand on her shoulder and she lifts her eyes to his, watching his finger cross her nose and come to rest against her lips. He shifts her to his left and opens the door a crack.

“Hey, Scott.”

“Hey, Terry,” Scott says.

“You seen anyone else down here?”

Scott looks behind him for a second, ruffling his hair.

“Uh, no,” he says. “I’m the last one. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, there’s just… there was a guy out front who lost his date so, y’know, I’m just checking down here in case.”

Scott rests his elbow against the partially open door and glances Tessa’s way. She shakes her head at him, her eyes begging not to give her away. He lets out a breath.

“Nope,” he says. “Haven’t seen anyone.”

“Okay, no worries.”

“Is the guy still around? In case I see anyone?” Scott says.

“Nah, nah. He took off, didn’t want to wait around all night. I just wanted to make sure no one was left in the building after closing.”

“Okay, well, I… I’ll let you know if I see anything.”

“Thanks, Scott.”

“Night Terry.”

He closes the door and cocks his head in her direction.

“Bad date, eh?” he says.

For what feels like the first time in hours, she smiles, tucking her chin and lowering her eyes to hide the bulk of her embarrassment.

“I mean,” he continues. “I’ve always had _visions_ of a girl surprising me in the locker room, and sure, I mean, the narrative wasn’t… quite like this but hey, y’know, whatever works.”

She twists her mouth, giving him a look, but the tease in his eyes and the lop-sided smile are difficult to ignore and she finds herself a little taken in by them. Tessa sighs, scooting her way across the door so her back is pressed up against it.

Scott eyes her with amusement.

“Um, is your head okay?” she says, reaching out for him before thinking better of it. “It looked like a pretty bad hit from where I was sitting.”

His eyes roll upwards, as if to see what she was looking at. He presses two fingers to the – now - taped cut.

“No, it’s… I’m okay,” he says.

She looks at him dubiously.

“Really,” he says. “I’ve had worse.”

“Oh,” she replies, her head nodding. “Wow, this place really smells.”

He laughs and raises his palms.

“Hockey,” he replies.

She smiles, feeling strangely at ease.

“Sorry for the – um – all the… kissing,” she says. “I kind of…panicked.”

“I think I’d lose a lot of points right now if I accepted that apology,” he replies, wiggling his eyebrows up and down.

She laughs, nodding her head again.

“In any case,” he says. “I should probably be apologizing to you. I’m sure sweaty hockey guy is not your go-to aroma.”

“There’s a certain part of me who wishes I’d at least run into a guy who’d taken a shower.”

He laughs again and she finds that she likes it. It’s boyish and easy and she thinks she’d kind of like to find a way to make him do it again.

“But there again, my _date_ didn’t smell like arm pit and that didn’t go so well either, so… who knows.”

Scott grins.

“We’ve all been there, kiddo,” he says. “I’ve had my fair share of bad dates. Although I must admit, I’ve never had to be rescued on any of them.”

“You did not… rescue me,” she says, with a little roll of her eyes.

“Of course not,” he says, stepping back towards the row of benches lining the middle of the floor. “My lips did.”

She pulls a face and he grins once more, before chucking a clean jersey in her direction.

“Here, put this on,” he says. “You look freezing.”

She hesitates a moment, before pulling it over her head, the warmth of it enveloping her immediately.

“I’m not going to be pulled up for stealing property, am I?” she says.

“Don’t worry, it’s my spare,” he replies. “Looks good on you.”

“I’m sure you say that to all the girls,” she replies, airily, waving her hand in the air.

It’s his turn to pull a face.

“Look, I really gotta take a shower before the sweat dries to my skin and I start freezing to death at which point I _will_ be coming back for that jersey but… stay there okay? I won’t be long and… I can walk you out.”

“Okay,” she says, finding it comforting that someone was taking care of her. She chooses a spot on one of the benches and sits herself down.

She hears the shower going and checks her phone while she’s waiting. There’s a message from her mother and she opens it warily, just in case word had somehow got back to her already.

All tucked up here,  
everything okay  
hope you’re having a good time  
see you tomorrow xo

it reads.

Tessa breathes a sigh of relief.

There’s a humming sound behind the steam and she finds herself standing up again and leaning against the wall.

“So, are you one of the Ilderton Moirs?” she says.

“Why, do one of us owe you money?” comes the playful reply.

“No. I just… my first coach was a Moir. Carol? I grew up in London but skated in Ilderton before I had to move away.”

The shower stops and she can make out his silhouette as he reaches for a towel and tousles it through his hair.

“Carol’s my Aunt – my mom’s sister. You were a figure skater?”

“Something like that.””

“Huh, that’s totally weird.”

“What is?” she says, watching him walk toward her with the towel now wrapped around his waist.

Tessa doesn’t know where to look.

“Now I’m going to have to ask you to restrain yourself,” he says. “Lest the sight of my nakedness be reforming any further ideas in your mind about launching yourself at me again.”

She rolls her eyes and whacks him on the arm as he walks by, grabs a fresh set of clothes, and ducks behind a locker.

“What’s weird?” she says again.

“Nothing just… well if you skated at Ilderton, we must have seen each other at one point or another,” he says, poking his head around to look at her. “That’s where I learned to skate. Skated for a while actually. My parents always said it’s what made me such a good hockey player.”

“I would agree with them,” Tessa says. “I was watching you out there, you have really great footwork and your edges are something that most championship skaters would envy.”

He steps out from behind the locker, throwing his shirt on over his jeans.

“Thank you,” he says, eyeing her curiously.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I just… I’m trying to work out if I know you. I feel like I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

“Well… I mean… if we both skated at Ilderton then…”

“No, it’s something more recent,” he says. “Don’t worry, it’ll come to me.”

He throws on his shoes and a jacket, then spreads his hands.

“Ready to go?”

Tessa nods, not really knowing what the correct response to that was meant to be, and follows him out toward the parking lot.

“So, uh… look there’s a party at my place, just a few guys from the team, maybe some of their girlfriends. Nothing fancy. You could come… if you want?”

“Come to the strange hockey player’s house in the middle of the night?” she replies.

“It’s ten ‘o clock,” he says.

The confusion on his face is endearing.

“It’s just… I don’t really… know… you.”

“No, it’s fine. I totally get it,” he says. “Um, I’ll walk you to your car, where is it parked?”

“Oh,” Tessa says. “Yeah, I… took a cab here and my date left so…”

“Right,” Scott says. “Okay, let’s go back inside and we’ll call you a cab.”

“You really don’t have to, I know the area, I’ll be fine, I could -”

There’s a growl from somewhere deep within her.

Scott raises an eyebrow.

“Was that your stomach?” he says.

“Yeah,” she replies, trying to cover her embarrassment. “I… haven’t really eaten.”

“Okay, well, I’m picking up a dozen pizza boxes from zen’Za over there,” he says, pointing just over the road. “Come with me, they will vouch that I’m _not_ an axe murderer, and if you’re still not convinced, you get to take one of the boxes home for free.”

“You know an axe murderer wouldn’t exactly be going around telling everybody that he _was_ an axe murderer.”

“Give me a break, kiddo, will ya? I got hit in the head, then got kissed by a girl, it’s all… pretty confusing right now. I don’t even know your name and my brain is still trying to reconstruct a sentence.”

She laughs, taking his arm as he offers it to her.

“It’s Tessa,” she says, following him down the steps toward the street. “My name is Tessa.”  
  


* * *

  
Scott Moir’s house is on the outskirts of Ilderton. It’s big and it’s white and there’s nothing either side of it for at least half a kilometer. All of this would be alarming, if it weren’t for the fact he’d spent the twenty minute drive over from London singing very loudly to the country music station.

By the time he pulls his truck into the drive, there are a half dozen other vehicles piling in behind him. He hops out, jogs ‘round to the other side, and opens the door for Tessa before helping her down.

“Thank you,” she says, genuinely touched by the gesture.

“No problem,” he replies.

She follows him up the steps, amid various introductions and setting aside of shoes, and finds herself standing in a kitchen. The pizza boxes get descended upon almost immediately before everybody spreads out and music starts blasting from the living room.

Tessa’s still looking around her, marvelling at its spaciousness, and wondering how on earth he could afford it.

She had her own house, sure, but she’d been winning competitions since she was a teenager – and she’d had a sizable deposit when she’d won her first World’s. It was rare for her to find someone close to her own age, who’d had similar opportunities.

“Saved you a couple slices,” Scott says, finding her standing in the enclosed back veranda.

He opens the box like he’s proposing marriage and Tessa smiles, her stomach grumbling in response. Scott sets it down on a small table and gestures for her to grab a piece. She doesn’t hesitate, biting down and not saying a word until she’d finished the entire slice.

“You know,” he says, chewing his own piece at a more reasonable pace. “You could have at least told me you were Tessa _Virtue_.”

Tessa wipes her mouth before responding. “How did you -”

“One of my buddy’s girlfriends recognized you,” he says, tossing her a grin. “Told me there’s no point trying to impress you with my trophy cabinet when you’re made of gold medals.”

Tessa tucks her hair behind her ears.

“It’s not like I’m saving lives,” she says. “I’m just a person… like anyone.”

“Are you retired now?” he asks.

“Yes. I’m twenty-three in May, which basically makes me a dinosaur in singles terms. I stopped competing a few years ago.”

“After the Olympics?”

“Yeah, well, there was World’s in March but… yeah. After that.”

“I remember now,” he says. “They made a big deal out of you.”

Tessa shrugs.

“Home-country advantage,” she replies.

“I think it was probably a little more than that.”

She smiles, not really sure what to say.

“So, what does a retired figure skater get up to if they’re not… figure skating?”

“Well, I was fortunate in that I was given a lot of sponsorships and a few media deals,” she says. “I relied on that for awhile – I pretty much said ‘yes’ to everything and burned myself out a little. It got a bit crazy at one point but… I’m alright now. I’d like to go back to school and maybe try a little normalcy for a while.

He nods.

“But I had a great run and I have so much to be thankful for,” she adds.

“I get that,” he says. “I mean, I feel like I’m still at the start of my career, weirdly, even though I’ve been a _Knight_ in some form really since I was a teenager. I still get surprised though if I see my name in the paper or get called up as an MVP. I mean, I’m still just… me, y’know?”

“I understand,” Tessa says. “This really is a great place you’ve got here.”

“Yeah,” Scott says. “I… wanted a place that was mine, so I pretty much built this myself. My parents are local, so I had a lot of help and it was easy enough to plow any earnings into it and crash with them when I needed to.”

“Well you did a wonderful job,” Tessa says. “It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks,” he replies, clearly proud of his accomplishments.

She smiles, finishing off another slice and then dabbing at her mouth with a napkin.

“Wait here,” he says. “I wanna show you something.”

He returns a minute later with an old photo album and thumbs it through to the right page.

“There you go.”

She peers over his shoulder, looking down into the smiling face of a small boy that was very obviously him. He had a slightly bowler haircut and was dressed in navy blue – his shirt collar beneath the sweater hidden beneath a bow tie. He had figure skates on his feet and some sort of medal around his neck, and with his arms opened wide he looked like the happiest kid alive.

Tessa laughs. “You’re adorable.”

He looks down at her, his face very close to her own.

“Now? Or then?” he replies.

She takes the album from him, to get a better look, closing it when she’s satisfied.

“Then,” she says, softly, setting it down. “Maybe now.”

Scott’s hand finds hers and she curls her body into him, finding her back pressed up against the wall as her lips meet his. He’s gentle, adding no more pressure than a soft press, giving her an out, but the feeling that pulses inside of her is electric. Pulling back a little, one hand on her cheek, she can feel he’s gauging her reaction, ready to step back if she asks him to. She’s still holding onto his hand, her thumb brushing his skin, and she wonders how long it will take for him to do that again.

“You okay?” he says.

“Yeah,” she replies. “I was just thinking… you’re considerably less sweaty than before.”

He smiles – not unlike the boy in the photograph – his body leaning toward her as he laughs into her hair. She looks up, the movement causing his lips to brush her forehead.

“Better?” he says. “Worse?”

She reaches a hand behind his neck and pulls him into her.

“I might need to test it again,” she replies.  
  


* * *

  
It's a curious thing, being intimate with someone you don't actually know. Particularly if that “someone” you don’t know is someone you also feel you were _meant_ to know, or maybe did know, in another life.

Maybe it’s why he follows, when she takes him by the hand, putting one foot in front of the other as she takes the stairs, presuming that at some point, he’d take over and lead her in the right direction.

It feels crazy and reckless, but in the darkness of his room and the impossible safety of his arms, having anyone’s lips on her own had never felt so right.

The intensity between them seems to have picked up the pace, between them standing against the wall downstairs and the now of being backed up against his door. She opens her mouth to him, his tongue sliding alongside hers as he plants his hands against her hips. The feel of him against her, rocking gently while his lips continue their exploration of her own, has her reaching for the back of his head, pulling him closer, a silent demand to have him do it again.

He deepens their kiss and she gasps into it – either due to her body’s urgent request to breathe or the absolutely overwhelming sensation of his fingers cupping her breast. Either way, she thinks, it would be a good way to die… although maybe a little more skin-to-skin contact before I do.

Miraculously, he seems to have read her request – possibly the serious bucking of her hips having something to do with that – and relieves her of the jersey he’d given her just a few hours before.

Then his lips are back on hers, his hand stroking the skin near her shoulder, before it works its way down, one finger lining the length of her waist before disappearing beneath her shirt along with the rest of his hand, coming to rest in the curve of her breast once more.

She wonders if she should explain about her lack of a bra – after all, going on a date without one seems a pretty expectant move. Does she explain that she’d always been advantageous to never really need one? Not always, of course, especially recently, but in the last few months her body had decided it was done being different and now she was as insignificantly breasted as she ever was.

Is it weird, she wonders, to be contemplating the nature of your own boobs while someone was trying to get at them?

Then his thumb finds her nipple, followed by his tongue, and she doesn’t think of anything else for at least the next four minutes.

It’s laughter from downstairs that brings her out of it and alerts her to the fact that they’re not technically alone.

“Um,” she says, holding onto the back of his neck while he plants kisses on hers.

He drags himself up, about as reluctant to stop as she is to make him.

His nose finds hers and she thinks it’s the most ridiculously intimate encounter she’s ever had.

“They’ll either pass out,” he says, flicking the latch on his door. “Or they’ll find their own way out.”

“Okay,” she says, and he must hear the uncertainty in her voice because his hand is suddenly back on her hip.

“Or we could stop,” he says, drawing himself up and stepping back.

“It’s not...” she says. “It’s just I don’t usually… it’s been a long…

…

oh, for fuck’s sake, Moir, shut up and get over here.”

She yanks him forward, smashing her mouth against his. He’s gloriously fierce and warm, and she’s trying to work out where his shirt went before she realizes she’s pulling it up and over his head. His shoulders are broad, but his body is lean, and she takes a moment to appreciate it, her fingers spreading across his chest trying to map east to west.

Then he smirks and she whacks him with both hands before he pulls her into him, tongue seeking hers, the heat of him sending a message straight down south that someone had better be taking their pants off soon.

She fumbles for his jeans, only to find he’d received the message before her and she wonders how they’d made it from the door to the bed and how her legs were suddenly bare when she had no real recollection of having moved at all.

He’s still standing somewhere above her, and she notes her own failed liberation of his own jeans, her fingers having only made it as far as the zipper. She sits up on the edge of his bed, feeling a little self-conscious in just a shirt and her underwear, with a half-naked man standing over her. The smile he gives her is bashful, nervous-even, like he’d been given a puzzle to put together except someone had taken the box. Then he kisses her, one hand on her cheek, slow and patient and delicious, and she runs her fingers through his hair, letting them curl in the nape of his neck.

After a minute – or eternity – because time is not a constant when parts of your body are on fire, she feels his mouth against her thigh, working his way to somewhere just above her knee. She watches the way he thumbs over her scars, looks up at her in question. Maybe she’ll tell him someday. Maybe he’ll be someone she’ll tell everything to.

Crossing her arms at her waist she pulls her shirt off, letting him know that now was not the time for that particular conversation. He smiles and nods, placing one kiss on her knee, another on her scar, before he nuzzles his way up her thigh, planting one final kiss on her hip.

She moves up the bed, taking him with her, and she’s hardly surprised when her back finds the mattress, that her underwear is being pulled off her feet. He seems to enjoy the inside of her thigh because he’s not in too much of a hurry to escape from there, and she has to bend her other leg to accommodate him, her foot beginning to stroke his arm as his lips move against her.

She relishes the contact, knowing her body aches for more. More of him, more of everything, here, in the dark, with a stranger from Ilderton. He pauses his ministrations, the small beat after brushing his lips against her naval, alerting her that he had stopped.

“Is this okay?” he says, looking at her intently, and she can’t find the words to say if he stops like that again, she’ll kill him.

So she arches her hips to meet him, letting his mouth find the warmth of her, letting his tongue do the talking in a language that didn’t require words. Then his hand is moving over her, thumbing her, fingers teasing inside of her, bringing her closer to an edge her body was now begging to jump off of.

Her hips buck dangerously, and she feels the strange sensation of air against her skin – the sudden absence of him, there one second and gone the next, the soft thump of something hitting the floor, a rustling, a gentle press against the bed. And then he’s above her and inside of her, his body moulding to hers in wordless need. She buries her fingers into him, rocking against his urgency, responding with her own, matching his intensity until she cries into his shoulder, unravelling, re-learning how to breathe while he comes undone, trembling a little as he kisses her temple, her nose, her lips, before pulling her into his side and curling her face into the warmth of his neck.  
  


* * *

  
It’s early, when she wakes, and the house is quiet.

Scott is still curled up by her side, breathing deeply.

She places one hand on his cheek, the lightest touch, before withdrawing and shifts herself under the covers, before slipping out beneath them. She has no idea where her shirt is – and it’s still too dark to see – but she spots her underwear (mercifully) and her jeans and throws Scott’s jersey over them, before disappearing into his bathroom. He stirs a little at the movement, but he’s still in that blissful space between asleep and awake.

She smiles at him before opening the bedroom door and tiptoeing out. There’s still one other car outside – she can see it through the living room window – and there are two guys on the couch. They look two sheets to the wind, and Tessa doesn’t think she’ll disturb them any by moving about. She finds the kitchen and looks nervously at the scattered glasses and pizza boxes. Then she cocks her head at the mess.

Alright, she thinks, before gathering the glasses and locating the dishwasher. She stacks them in neatly before turning her attention to any discarded plates, taking care of those before attempting to correct the multi-box situation. She finds four different slices and lays them carefully in one box, putting that one in the fridge before turning to the others and beginning to make a pile. There’s not enough space in his recycling, so she just pats the top box, telling it they’ll have to wait until daylight when she can figure out the door, and won't have to worry about locking herself outside, being left to wander barefoot over the countryside forever.

She looks about for something to eat.

Sure, there’s the pizza, but she doesn’t want to be presumptuous when the two guys currently passed out in Scott’s living room will no doubt need it more. She starts opening cupboards, feeling vaguely intrusive, but still sleepy enough not to feel too guilty about it.

There’s a large box of Cheerios in one of them.

Tessa shrugs.

It’ll hold the fort until she can get home and find something nutritious. She finds scissors and a bowl, snipping open one end of the bag before pouring a handful.

_“I wouldn’t eat those.”_

Tessa yelps and jumps, sending bits of cereal flying out the bag she was still holding.

Scott looks amused. “They’re absolute poison.”

Tessa fumbles for something to say – finding words scarce in the face of this scruffy-haired jock she’d just happened to spend the night with. She looks from the box to him, to the bowl, hoping the words would come.

“Sneaking out were we?” he says.

He doesn’t seem particularly mad about it.

But she still doesn’t think she can lie to him, either.

“I was… thinking about it,” she says.

“Before you realized you have no mode of transport and also have some _very_ impractical shoes?”

Tessa gives him a look and tosses a Cheerio at him for good measure.

He laughs and dodges, stepping fully into the kitchen now.

“I am armed,” she says, holding another one up in defence.

Scott puts his palms up. “Believe me, I am on guard.”

Tessa pops one in her mouth, letting it crunch.

“You are fearless,” he says, with a grin, rounding the counter toward her. “Did you clean up in here?”

“Guilty,” she says.

He nods like he’s trying to find a way to say thank you. Apparently, words weren’t so great for him either.

“Why do you hate these things anyway?” she asks him, placing the bag of Cheerios back in the box.

“Because they are disgusting,” he says. “If there was a giant vat of these and you were drowning in them and the only way to save you was for me to dive into them and rescue you, you would die.”

Tessa laughs.

“I’m sensing there’s some deeper psychological thing going on there,” she says.

Scott grins.

“We once had a ton of them – and I do mean a ton – donated to the rink. God knows why. But my parents were never ones to waste and there were a couple times growing up when money was tight, so even though we were in a better place, she still felt that food was food, y’know?”

Tessa nods.

“Of course, now, I can’t touch them on pain of death,” he says.

“So why are they in your kitchen cupboard?” Tessa asks.

“Because every now and then, when my mother thinks my head is getting too big, she’ll sneak in here and remind me that I am not above reproach.”

She laughs, softly, until silence settles between them. It surprises her that it’s not uncomfortable.

“I really have to get home,” she says, eventually, casting a look up at him.

He nods in understanding and she feels guilty.

“It’s not that I didn’t have a good time… I just… I really have to get home.”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain.”

“I don’t… really know how to do this.”

“Do what?”

She points between the two of them. “Well, I need a ride – and I need a ride home – so in order to _get _home I’m going to have to ask you to _take_ me there, but I don’t usually bring… I mean I’m not…”

“Y’know I – uh – I had a pretty serious girlfriend up until recently… a few months ago actually,” Scott says, running a hand through the back of his hair. “We were together about two years but – um – it didn’t work out.”

“Oh,” Tessa says. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles.

“My point is,” he says. “I know what it’s like to not be ready for anything more right now. I can’t judge you for feeling the same.”

His sincerity is moving, and she reaches out a hand, placing it on his arm.

“I’ll take you home, Tess,” he says, putting a hand over hers and giving it a squeeze.

“Thanks,” she replies. “And I’m happy to liberate this box of Cheerios from your kitchen and take it home with me… as a thank you.”

“And there I was thinking _I_ was the knight.”

“And… I mean… my shirt is still somewhere… upstairs. So. If you wanted to help me find it… I’d be okay with that,” she says, her hand still clutching his. “So, what do you say? Want to help a girl out here?”

His smile lights something inside of her.

“Okay, kiddo,” he replies. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”  
  


* * *

comments are ♥


	8. The Myrrh We Are Together

A year ago, Scott Moir had a plan.

It was a good plan.

It involved distance, alienation, thinly veiled contempt – and the casual art of not giving a fuck.

Sure, it didn’t make him feel good about himself. Being an ass was one thing, but being a deliberate asshole was something else entirely and not something he was ever particularly proud of.

It must have felt like a slap in the face at the time, the cold and cavalier manner in which he’d broached their television partnership. Okay, so it hadn’t been his “plan” exactly to treat her as an enemy, but it had barely been a month since they’d won _Battle of the Blades_, and when he’d gone to the event, when he’d spent the entire day with a huge group of kids from their chosen charity initiative, he simply… hadn’t been prepared to see her again. So, he’d smiled for the cameras and stayed out of her way – from the outside looking in, one might have wondered if they even knew each other at all.

He hadn’t exactly meant to become a giant dick about it all, but when the job offer came – the job of a lifetime - it came with strings attached.

And he wasn’t the only one suffering, he’d known that – she’d been equally affected by the way they’d been unceremoniously dumped together. “Thrilled” was not a word he would have used to describe her emotional state at the time, even though it was the first word she’d used in the Tweet she’d sent out announcing their television partnership.

So, when their on-air personas needed an off-air outlet, things gradually – and somewhat naturally - descended into them taking pot shots at each other.

So yeah, he was detached and insensitive and truthfully? Not really the best guy.

He wasn’t the guy his parents had raised him to be.

But in the end, he’d told himself that he couldn’t think about that.

Because _this_ wasn’t about that.

It was about not letting Tessa Virtue get under his skin, and into his head, or anywhere near his goddamn heart.

And now, in the space of one week, his entire plan had been flung out the window, along with any and all ability to check his feelings at the door.  
  


* * *

  
“Dear Olivia, my name’s Caleb. I’m ten years old and I live in Etobicoke with my mom, my dad, and my baby brother Jayden. My dad is pretty cool, we go to the park to ride bikes a lot and he taught me how to throw a good Frisbee. At Christmas time we usually go to my Grandma’s. There’s a lot of us so it gets pretty loud. On the drive over, my dad will spend a lot of time talking about the best way to get there. And when we’re done, he and my uncles will debate the best way to get home… like they never even been there before. One thing I know, is that whichever way we go, my Mama’s way would'a been the right one. At least that’s what he says later when she’s not around to hear it. Anyway. Merry Christmas, Olivia. And I hope you find a dad.”

“Hi, this is Tessa Virtue and -”

She turns her head over her shoulder.

“That _was_ Scott Moir.”

Pushing open the door to the Tim Hortons, she steps inside, tailed by her producer and a cameraman that Maddy had chosen particularly for his discretion. Apparently, Catherine had wanted them to take Steve – a request that Maddy had conveniently forgotten after Tessa had intimated that he'd been the one to close the greenroom door.

“We’re at a rest stop just off the 403 outside Hamilton, a route Scott has no doubt travelled a thousand times during his thirty-two years of existence being a London native.”

“Hey!” Scott says, leaning casually against a booth containing a family of four. “Thirty-two? Can’t a guy have _some_ secrets?”

“You’re right,” Tessa says, before staring directly into the camera. “No one to this day will have ever thought to Google you, a previous captain of the _Toronto Maple_ _Leafs_.”

He pulls a face that has everyone in the nearby vicinity laughing.

“I’m just saying,” Scott says, before eyeing the table opposite. “Oh, hey, excuse me, Sir? They’ve only just let me out of my cage and I’m starving, could I just…”

Tessa rescues the plate before Scott can get his hands on the diner’s breakfast sandwich.

“So close,” he says.

“You can’t just go around eating other people’s food,” Tessa says, batting her eyes in his direction.

“Hey buddy,” Scott says, coming around to lean over her shoulder. “You gonna mind if I eat this?”

The guy peering up at them both in his _Honey Badgers_ cap and a high visibility jacket, spreads his hands and shrugs in amusement.

“See?” Scott says, retrieving the egg and bacon sandwich from the plate and biting down before Tessa can protest. “He doesn’t mind.”

Tessa takes turns looking between him and the camera. Everybody else in the place has stopped what they were doing to watch, and – just like the man whose sandwich Scott had stolen – were eyeing them both with delight.

Scott grins through a mouthful and shrugs. “What?”

Tessa gives him a look that’s part fondness, part exasperation and swipes a thumb at his lips.

“You’ve got egg on your face,” she says.

Scott looks directly into the camera, studiously sheepish, and then aims the sandwich at Tessa’s mouth. She dodges easily, stepping well clear of him.

“Think she might have seen that coming,” he says.

“I’m going to buy this gentleman some breakfast,” she says, giving him an eye roll. “Please don’t eat anyone else’s food.”

Scott has picked up someone’s iced macchiato and is mid-way to the straw. He eyes her playfully, amid the sounds of stifled laughter around them, and she walks back slowly, each click of her heels making his eyebrow rise further.

Tessa takes the cup from him, her eyes never leaving his, and hands it back to the woman who’d either been making her way from the counter to a table or had just been about to leave. Her head spares a moment to finally admit that everything they were when the cameras were rolling, was the real "them". And everything that was happening outside of that, was something she should have started fixing a long time ago. She used to think of it as acting, simply playing a part to get the job done - but she realizes now that those roles were reversed. When the cameras were on, it was the only time that she was free to really be herself. And looking at Scott, his impish grin stretching ear to ear, she wonders if maybe for him, it's the same.

And then she slips her hand in his.

“Thirty-two going on four and a half,” she says, pulling him along with her to the line of waiting customers. “Come on let’s get you some coffee. Anybody else need a coffee? Y’know… to make up for… him?”

She waves her other hand in Scott’s general direction.

“Oh come on, you know you love me,” he says.

She rolls her eyes again, mostly to hide the fact her heart had momentarily stopped beating, before turning her face to his.

“All this trouble just to hold a girl’s hand,” she replies.  
  


* * *

  
“Dear Olivia, my dad is always worrying about the Christmas tree. Doesn’t matter where we are, he’ll always say ‘did anyone water the tree?’. He’s always looking out for it in the same way as us kids. My mom makes this sound through her nose whenever he says it, but she still sits with him on the couch after dinner and they hold hands. I think a good dad looks out for his family. I’m not sure yet about all the hand holding. Maybe it’s a grown-up thing? But my mom likes it when he does – even if he was bugging her about the tree earlier.” – April (7 and three-quarters)

  
  
“Okay but… we watered _this_ tree, right? Somebody’s watering _this_ tree?”

Tessa pats his shoulder, her gaze steady on the camera. “I think we’re going to have to leave the rest of you at home to your mornings, I have a feeling Scott might be a while.”

Scott leans over the back of the sofa, examining the studio’s Christmas tree.

“So,” Tessa says. “From all of us here at _Good Morning Toronto_, have a great day and we’ll see you all tomorrow.”

“And… we’re out,” Maddy says. “Great show everyone.”

Tessa tugs on Scott’s sleeve – he’s half-bent over the back now. “You’re going to send yourself over.”

“Concerned about my well-being, eh?” he says, righting himself again and turning to look at her.

“No,” Tessa says. “It’s just if you _are_ going to fall on your head, I’d rather it be when I’m in another room and can’t be held accountable.”

“I’ll make note of that the next time I’m looking to crack my skull.”

“Next time?" she says, a little alarmed. "You mean there was a _first_?”

“Eh, nothing I couldn’t bounce back from,” Scott tells her. “I’ve been knocked in the head a few times – well – you know, you’ve been there.”

He’s attune to her body language most days, so he doesn’t miss the sudden straightening of her spine, the dilation in her pupils, the way her shoulders tense like she’s holding her breath.

“Did I… say something wrong?”

“No,” Tessa says, a little too quickly.

He could dismiss it, shrug it off to his imagination, but is that… are her…? They are. Her cheeks are definitely a little darker than normal.

But why? All he said was –

Oh.

_You’ve been there._

It was the first time either of them had truly ever acknowledged that night. Even last year, when they’d started training together, they’d both shown remarkable self-control when it came to their own memories. Sure, there was the hilarious prank with the Cheerios, but by the time that was going down, they were in training, cameras always tailing them. There’d never been a good moment to bring it up, and he guesses they both just… let it pass. For his part, it was because when they were finally shoved in a room together for their first briefing, along with the rest of the cast, he was too surprised to speak. This was before they were paired, before they knew much about the structure of the upcoming series, and he’d been sitting on the opposite side of the room at the time, right at the back. She’d been right at the front, poised and listening, her hair up in a ponytail that bounced whenever she moved her head. He remembers her turning in her seat, as they were rearranging the chairs into a circle, and her eyes caught his. Scott could have sworn he’d seen something like electricity pass through the air between them. He’d wanted to say something then, but she’d sandwiched herself between two of the other figure skaters and by the time they were done, he felt they’d moved way past the point of mentioning to anyone else that they’d met before.

Added to that was the minor complication that he’d never be able to explain to anyone just how.

Then they were placed together –

and things got a little more complicated.  
  


She’s frowning at him now and Scott knows he’s been silent too long.

“Am I interrupting something?” Maddy says.

Scott wonders how long she’s been standing there. He glances from Maddy, to Tess, the split-second motion giving the latter time to recover, her face carefully neutral now.

Maddy is now looking between them. “I’m not going to need to restrain anyone, am I?”

“What?” Tessa says. Scott thinks her brain might not have caught up with her face just yet.

“No,” he says, quickly. “We were just… I think Tess was just a little worried that I might not have a hard enough head.”

Maddy, who had missed their entire conversation about it, raises both eyebrows. “I am sure _nobody _thinks that,” she replies, taking a swig from the coffee mug in her hand. “Right, Tess?”

“There is… nothing… in my knowledge bank that would suggest otherwise,” Tessa says, still sounding somewhat distracted. “I’m sure you’re hard enough.”

Maddy chokes and spits out her drink, the syrupy black liquid dripping onto her shirt.

Scott is desperately trying to keep a straight face while he waits for the light to dawn.

Tessa closes her eyes.

Maddy clears her throat. “I’m uh… mm… just going to have to take your word for it.”

Scott’s shoulders begin to shake in silent laughter. It gets worse when Tessa glares at him.

“I’m leaving now,” she says, getting up and pressing out any creases in her skirt.

“Okay but when you get back, bring a little water for the tree, eh?” Scott says.

“Do you ever just… stop?” she says.

“You can’t turn off excellence,” he replies.

She sighs and he can see she’s irritated even if it’s confusing him as to why. He thought things had been going great between them.

Thankfully Maddy steps in before he can make things worse.

“Right, wardrobe. Go,” she says. “We’re leaving at ten.”

“Hey, do I get a new outfit?” Scott says.

“No, we’re just going to throw an apron on you,” Maddy replies.

“There’s gonna be – like – something underneath that, right?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you can play nice,” she says, indicating the now retreating Tessa. “Please tell me you haven’t broken the peace already.”

“No it… we… I…” He looks away for a second. He can’t exactly tell her that he accidentally chipped a piece of Tessa’s wall away. “You know what? I think we’ve just had a couple really long days and – uh – who knows, maybe I exhausted her yesterday when I started asking everyone at Tim’s the best way back to the city.”

“Well I won’t argue with _that_.” She swipes at her coffee stain. “Right, off you go. Find something to wear… no, no, scratch that. Wait for Tess to get dressed and then let her match you up, she’s got a good eye for that. I’ll stop by in twenty to check up on you. Please don’t kill each other before I get there.”

Scott doesn’t have any more comeback than to throw her a casual salute. He flops back against the sofa, watching her leave. He should have known better. Better than to… ah fuck… better than to let his head take a hiding to nowhere.

Now look where it’s left him.

This all started because of him – and now here they both were trying to find a way to finish it on their terms.

So why is it he can’t stop thinking about the way she’d leaned into him when Catherine was staring them down? Why does it matter so much that she’d protected him from a spectacularly bad cup of coffee at the rink? That she didn’t recoil when her nose brushed his, that she hadn’t hesitated to take his hand, that she’d sent him a picture of her kid clutching a box of Cheerios? Why does it matter, if it’s all coming to end?

And why is it that he finds himself looking for a way not to end at all.  
  


* * *

  
"Dear Olivia, my dad really likes the gym. Recently he built his own one in the garage - now our cars have to sleep on the street. But he likes it because I can't go to the other gyms like adults do. Now I get to work out with him and he teaches me how to use all the equipment safely. The only thing he misses sometimes are the shakes you can get out the vending machines when you're through. He doesn't always remember to think about a post-workout smoothie, so sometimes we're starving by dinner and we end up opening all the snacks. Maybe you could ask Tessa and Scott to show him - and all the other hard working gym people - that it's not so hard. From, Connor (age 11)."

  
Tessa had absolutely no idea why she was asked to dress a grown man when they had a perfectly good wardrobe department. That is, until, he’d held up a garish Christmas sweater that lit up when you pressed it.

“No,” she’d said.

“You don’t want to press my baubles?”

She’d rubbed her nose with the back of a hand, her smile easing some of her tension.

“No,” she’d replied. “I don’t want to… touch… your… dammit.”

He’d grinned.

“Come on Virtch, let’s find me something to wear you can live with and I promise, I will not behave like an idiot for the rest of the day.”

"You're not... you're not an idiot, Scott," she'd replied, hoping her eyes weren't giving away just how trapped in the past she was. "I was just - um - caught of guard and I got a little stuck remembering -"

"My hard head," he'd said, wrapping his knuckles against his skull. Then he'd paled. "Fuck."

  
Now they were standing in a crowded food court in downtown Toronto, their pop-up set surrounded by curious onlookers.

She tries to ignore them as well as her own growing discomfort. She’d been fine before the show this morning, and she knows he didn't mean any harm by any of it. So how is it that one casual, throw-away line from Scott had managed to ruffle her feathers like this?

Clearly Scott wasn’t making a big deal about it, sauntering into her dressing room the way he did with his absolutely atrocious sweater. So, why was she? What did it matter that they'd slept together a hundred years ago?

“Hey,” he whispers, bending down before handing her a bundle of something. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Hm?” she replies, unfolding what turned out to be an apron.

“I said did you hear… never mind.”

“Sorry,” she says, not really knowing what else to say.

He taps the mic on his headset, making a show of it.

“Y’know what, I think there’s something wrong with this…” He takes her by the elbow and leads her through a set of doors just to the left of them. The studio had arranged the space for any excess supplies, equipment, and crew.

“What was that for?” she says, once they’re safely away from any prying eyes.

“Look at me,” he says.

“Look at you?”

“Yes, here.” He points two fingers toward his face.

She follows his gaze, still trying to work out what was happening.

“Whatever I did,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“Whatever you… Scott you didn’t do anything.”

“Then why do I feel like we’re on different planets, let alone in the same room?”

“I don’t…”

She can feel her heart racing in her chest and finds herself reaching for his fingers without any real recollection of her brain telling her to do so. He looks down, then back to her, and she wonders how somebody who did not care about her at all, could suddenly look so concerned.

“Do you need to sit d -”

“No.”

“Okay,” he says, holding tightly onto her hand in case she decides to collapse on him or something. “Do you need…”

“No,” she repeats, putting her free hand on his chest, trying to work out whether it was because she needed to pull him in or push him away. "Honestly, I'm fine."

He’s too close and yet not close enough, and there’s a tightening in her chest that’s making it harder to breathe. Scott Moir should not be close enough to count her freckles, he shouldn’t be looking at her with those soft brown eyes of his, and he definitely – _definitely_ – should not have those lips anywhere near her own –

_“Two minutes to showtime, guys.”_

Whoever it was that had popped their head around the door is already gone, as was – apparently - the moment. Scott had taken a giant step back at the intrusion and now he’s tugging down on his cream sweater, leaving Tessa in doubt of the intention.

She looks down at her own, the burgundy cable knit complimenting his. They must look like a Christmas card.

Tessa forces herself to look back at him – she’d never be able to do the show otherwise. He looks unnerved and she instantly regrets her foolishness. It wasn’t his fault she’d got stuck in old memories.

“Thank you,” she says. “I think I just… it’s hot down here… and this sweater is… I just felt a little…”

“It’s not a problem,” he says, giving her a small smile. “Do you want to take it off?”

“I – um – I’m wearing a very thin camisole,” she tells him.

“Well then we’re _definitely_ taking it off.”

She twists her lip and rolls her eyes but can’t help the laugh.

“Feel free to whack my arm,” he says, holding one out to her.

Tessa tucks her chin, hoping like hell her cheeks didn’t look as on fire as they felt. “I think I’ll manage.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, thank you,” she says. “But just this once. I reserve the right to claim that free whack at a later date.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure I’ll give you plenty of reasons.”

She laughs, finding comfort in the glint of his eyes, and a little more security by the return of his smile.

“Come on Moir,” she says. “Let’s see what unusual positions I can get you in today.”

She reaches the door before realizing he’s stopped, and she turns to find his smile wider than ever. Tessa rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

“Get over here,” she says.

He obeys without a word.

“Hold out your arm.”

He does so, gamely, keeping his eyes on her face to see if she cracks.

Tessa sighs deeply, looking anywhere _but_ at his expression –

and then she whacks him gently.

_“Guys, your two minutes were up, forty-eight seconds ago.”_

Tessa blinks at the poor runner who had no doubt been directed by Maddy to convey deep ire.

“Forty-eight, eh?” Scott says, glancing her way, as the guy leaves again. “It’s almost like not filming a live segment doesn’t need such specific time-keeping and we can give the hosts a little grace to start when they’re ready, but what do I know?”

Tessa laughs softly.

“What?” he says, clearly liking the fact that he’d amused her.

“How did you _ever_ get this job?” she says.

Scott gives her a look that does absolutely nothing to settle the butterflies in her stomach. He grabs hold of the door handle, before pausing a moment to look back at her.

“I smiled,” he replies.

* * *

comments are ♥ 


	9. I Only Have Ice For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update as of March 1st: If you're reading this now, it's likely because you've come looking in case of an update or news and found things somewhat lacking. In all truth, the constant criticism of this fic got to me. From obvious trolls in my twitter DMs who said my writing is pointless, to others here who said "they expect more" or that my "writing dragged", and even to others, who although well meaning told me that my dialogue is jarring and without purpose, that they dislike the way I don't signpost everything, that I need more prose. All of this served to sever my connection from this story. The desire to write it, which was so full and bursting... simply vanished. I absolutely hate the idea of leaving a story unfinished but this... it honestly broke my spirit. And I simply don't know if there is anything left in me to keep this going. And I'm truly sorry for that and hope that anyone reading this, will understand.

* * *

Olivia stands in the living room, hands on hips.

“What’s with all the boxes?”

Tessa sets her skate bag down alongside Olivia’s and walks over, putting an arm around her daughter’s shoulder.

“Grandma happened,” she replies.

Olivia looks up quizzically, her eyebrows knitting together.

“You probably don’t remember much about our house in London,” Tessa says. “You were very little at the time.”

“Mm… I had a rocking horse, right?”

“Right.”

“I remember the house from the pictures, but I don’t _remember_, remember. Does that make sense?”

Tessa smiles and brushes her fingers through her daughter’s ponytail. “It does.”

“I was teeny-tiny.”

“So… _really _only a little smaller than you are now.”

“Hey!” Olivia says. “I can’t help being short.”

Tessa laughs and bends down to lower one of the boxes to the floor.

“You want to grab the utility knife?” she says.

“Yeah!”

Olivia heads to the hall closet and back, returning with a small toolbox. She opens it up and holds the retractable knife out carefully.

“So, are these from the old house? Is that why Grandma brought them?”

“Yes,” Tessa replies. “When you were still little -”

“_Way_ littler than I am now,” Olivia says, seriously.

“Yes, of course,” Tessa replies, with a grin. “Way littler.” She slices through the tape on the lid of a box. “I decided I wanted to go back to school.”

“Was it Math?” Olivia asks. “I know a lot of people have trouble with that one.”

Tessa laughs softly. “No, bug. It wasn’t Math. I went to university. So I could learn how to be a journalist.”

“You had to learn how to be on TV?”

“Well, not just that. I wanted to learn how to write, how to interview, how to present myself. I didn’t ever want to walk into a room and not know what I was doing there.”

“I get that,” Olivia tells her. “Like, when I had to start third grade and we all walked into our new classroom and everything was different, and _nothing_ was like last year with Mr. Pope and I thought ‘I’m outta here!’, I want to go back to what I know!”

Tessa’s heart squeezes with overwhelming love and she reaches out and pulls Olivia down into her lap. “No, it’s very different,” she says.

“It is?”

Olivia looks up at her mother seeking the knowledge she doesn’t yet have.

“You,” Tessa tells her. “Were one thousand percent ready for third grade.”

“I was?”

“Yes. Because _you_ had learned _everything_ you needed to in second grade to be able to fly into third. There’s always something new to learn, no matter where you are or how old you are. But there are always steps to getting there. You’re learning all about the geography of North America, right?”

“Right.”

“And you’re learning more about our government and our people. You’re learning about indigenous peoples, and also about Canada’s French and British heritage. And you’re reading about it in your library books.” Tessa shifts Olivia’s weight a little so she’s not digging into her hip. “But could you do all of that if you didn’t know what a continent is? Or a country? Could you talk about the St. Lawrence river if you didn’t know what a river was? If I asked you to go choose any book that would help you learn more about it, how would you know where to go in the library, if you didn’t know the difference between fiction and non-fiction? We’re always learning, Liv, all the time.”

“And if _you_ wanted to do journable…ism… then you could use what you already knew from competing and doing interviews and I’ll bet doing all those different things like making jewelry and glasses and stuff made you really confident to speak in front of a lot of people. But there was still more to learn, right?”

“Exactly,” Tessa says. “For me, there was so much more to learn about journalism. And I found it very rewarding to have that credibility.”

“What is… credibility?”

“It means that you are who you say you are,” she replies. “That people can trust you. If something is credible, then it is true. It’s a fact.”

“So… the fact that I am short is… credible?”

Tessa laughs and kisses the top of her daughter’s head. “Yes.”

“Do you think… do you think my dad was short?”

“I don’t… I don’t know, exactly,” Tessa says, surprised by the sudden turn in conversation. “I didn’t intentionally choose someone short but our genes – that’s something inside our bodies that helps decide whether we have brown eyes or green, or curly hair or straight, or long legs or short – our genes don’t always do what we think they’ll do.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, I’m shorter than JeJe, and I’m a _lot_ shorter than your uncles!” Tessa says. “Sometimes I feel like I should have been taller because they were, but… I wasn’t.”

“Did you get to choose… like how tall you wanted him to be?” Olivia says, sliding off Tessa’s lap to get a better view of her face.

Tessa tilts her head, pulling absentmindedly at a strand of tape and buying herself a few precious seconds of breathing room. She’d known the day would come when Olivia would start asking these kinds of questions, she just hadn’t expected for the rest of her life to be crashing down around her while that was happening.

“That is something you can do, yes,” she says. “Sometimes if a woman wants to have a baby on her own, she can choose the kinds of features she might like her child to have. It might not always work out that way, but you can definitely choose someone that you feel comfortable with.”

“But you don’t get to meet them, right?”

“Right. It’s completely anonymous.”

“You just use the -” Olivia wiggles her finger like a fish. “- man’s sperm. I know all about sperms, like how they swim up to -”

“Okay!” Tessa says, needing at least another couple of years – or perhaps another decade - before she was ready to properly dissect that particular subject matter with her offspring. “What say we see what’s in these boxes, eh?”

“Cool!” Olivia says, unperturbed by the interruption, as she gets up onto her knees. “You said these were from the house in London?”

“Oh yes, um, so at some point I felt like I was living in too many places at once and I knew we’d be moving to Toronto so I sold the house and Grandma ended up storing some things that I didn’t need straight away. Of course, I then completely forgot about them and they’ve been living in her basement ever since!”

Olivia peeks inside the now opened box and lifts out something bubble wrapped.

“Hey, look! Trophies!”

Tessa follows her daughter’s gaze to the layer of awards below.

“Are these all from skating?” Olivia asks, pulling one out of its wrapping and examining it.

Tessa reaches in and grabs a wooden picture frame.

“A lot of them are but some of them are dance certificates,” she replies. “From when I did ballet.”

“Am I a good dancer because you’re a good dancer?”

“Probably,” Tessa says. “But don’t forget you work really hard for it too.”

“I wonder if my dad was a dancer,” Olivia says. “Boys can be good dancers too, right?”

“They can be, yes.”

“You have green eyes, but I have brown eyes, does that mean my dad had brown eyes?”

Tessa presses her lips together in thought.

“It was a long time ago, but, yes, I think he did have brown eyes.”

“How do you know that if you never met him?”

“Because when you’re… choosing… a dad, you get to look at -”

“The sperms?”

Tessa covers her laugh with a hand. “Not exactly. You sort of… read a little fact file and you choose one you like.”

“How do you know what you like when it’s just a little tadpole?”

“Well you…” God she loves this kid. “It’s not about the sperm as such as the man it came from. So, it’ll tell you how what colour his eyes were, what his nationality or race is, whether or not he had any hobbies.”

“But how do you know he’s not like… an ogre or anything?”

“Well, hon, I don’t think _anybody_ is an ogre.”

“Your _boss_ is an ogre.”

Tessa has to give her that one.

“But what if – like – do you remember the letter I got from that girl Lily? And she wanted to tell me all about her dad because he died two years ago, and she misses him very much.”

“I remember.”

“Well, if you don’t meet the… sperm man… how do you know he’s not sick or he’s not going to get sick?”

“Liv,” Tessa says. “None of us can ever truly know what might happen to us in the future. But when you’re looking for someone to father your child, you can read up on their medical history, because of course, you’re going to want a healthy baby. True, you might not know all of it, but the doctors that help you, they do their best to make everything as okay as it can be.”

“So… do you have any facts about mine?”

“I… know that he broke an arm once,” Tessa says. “And that’s about it.”

“Well that doesn’t seem so bad,” Olivia says.

“No, you’re right, it doesn’t.”

“Did it tell you how _tall_ he was? Because I think you might have missed the boat on that one.”

Tessa smooths out the strays in her daughter’s hair.

“Truth is Liv, I… don’t remember very much about that time.”

“Why not?”

She sighs.

“Because after my final Olympics -”

“Which you won.”

“Yes, which I won. And my final World’s -”

“Also won.”

“Yes,” Tessa says. “Life got a little crazy for me.”

“Crazy how?”

“Well, I was always busy. If anyone asked me to do something, I did it. I travelled all over the country, I dived head-first into new business ideas, I did photo shoots and interviews for anybody who asked for it. There was not a single day where I stopped, and it was six months before I even went home.”

“Six months!”

“Yep. And even then, it was for a few days and I was off again. And then suddenly, one day, I did stop… and I didn’t know what to do. And that... made me sad.”

“Why?” Olivia says, her eyes wide and filled with genuine empathy.

“Because I had worked my whole life to be able to do one thing,” Tessa says, knowing she has to tread carefully here. “And I had absolutely no idea what to do next. I wanted to do something meaningful. So, I decided to become a mom.”

“But you didn’t have someone to be the dad, right?”

“Correct. But there are lots of women – thousands in fact – who have children the same way that I did. That’s how they chose to do it. And… how I chose to have you.”

“So, is that why you don’t remember a lot?” Olivia asks. “Because of how busy you were?”

Tessa gives her daughter a little squeeze. Opening up about how much she had struggled after retirement was not something she wanted to discuss with Olivia while she was still so young.

“Yes,” she says, wiggling Olivia’s shoulders backwards and forwards. “Which is what _we_ will be, if we don’t shift some of these boxes!”

“Okay! Okay!” Olivia says, giggles bursting out of her. “Can I open that one?”

“Sure,” Tessa says, lifting the box of trophies. “I’m going to haul this one down to the basement and deal with it after the holidays.”

She makes the trek down the stairs, leaving Olivia happily grazing the knife through tape. When she returns, Olivia’s head is buried inside, rifling through its contents of stuffed animals and odd assortments that Tessa had long forgotten.

She leaves her to it and checks her phone for any messages, before firing off a quick text to Jordan to let her know their mother had finally cracked and had just tossed Tessa’s childhood onto her living room floor.

“Hey, bug. How about we order in tonight?”

“Sounds good to me!”

“Okay, I’m going to grab the menus from the take-out drawer.”

“Okay!”

Tessa heads to the kitchen, listening to the sounds of Olivia’s hums while she rummages. She knows it’s only natural for her daughter to be curious about her somewhat unusual entrance into this world. She’s a bright kid, and so incredibly curious, and she knows that nobody in her immediate friendship circle is like she is. Sure, they all have different family structures and Olivia is well aware that not everybody has parents who live together and that some might not have any at all. But she’s also never met anybody else who was one-part their mother, and one-part anonymity, and Tessa knows that she’s reached the point where her kid is going to start questioning that more and more. Olivia Virtue wants to know more about – well – Olivia Virtue. And that includes the part of her that, unfortunately, Tessa knows very little about.

So, maybe… maybe this wasn’t about Olivia wanting a father at all. Maybe… it was about Olivia wanting to find more of herself.

She sighs, resting her body against the counter.

Or - maybe Olivia really _did _want a dad and Tessa was just completely screwed.

“Hey, Mom?”

“Yes, hon?”

“Do you think I could come watch one of the tapings this week?” Olivia says. “I’d be really, really quiet and just sit in the back.”

“Aren’t you forgetting about a little thing called school?” Tessa replies, grabbing two glasses and some chocolate milk out the fridge.

“What about the one on Saturday? I totally want to see all those parents making hot sauce! And school is out this Friday, I could come next week too!”

Tessa blows air between her lips. The _last _thing she wants is her daughter on set. Not because she’s against taking Olivia to work, but because she really, _really_ didn’t want anyone to connect her with that letter.

“I’ll – um – we’ll think about it honey,” she replies. “There’s a lot to consider when you -”

“Uh… Mom?” Olivia says, the interruption and her hesitant tone getting Tessa’s attention. “Why is there a hockey jersey in this box? It says “Knights” on the front.”

_Oh God._

“Uh… and _why_ does it say ‘Moir’ on the back?”

Tessa looks to the ceiling, clutching the menus to her chest.

“Oh shit,” she says.  
  


* * *

  
“Dear Olivia, last Christmas I got my dad a ‘make your own hot sauce’ kit because 1) he likes his food spicy and he’s always saying the store bought stuff isn’t hot enough for him, and 2) it keeps him out of trouble (this has been verified by my step mother). It came with the bottles and spices and he could even customize his own labels. Now he spends a lot of time making his own sauce and I really think he should come on the show and make some of it with Tessa and Scott. I love my dad very much, and he likes letting me help him put all the ingredients together. But I also like that I can keep him busy enough that he doesn’t notice I haven’t cleaned my room in a while. I’m not saying all fathers _have_ to know how to make hot sauce but… it’s nice to have a dad that you can do things with. Sometimes it might not be something you like very much, but it makes my dad happy and then we have a great time together. From Thomas (age 13).  
  
  


“So, one of the things that young Olivia asked us to do was to," Scott says, glancing at Tess, "shall we say – demonstrate? – and talk about not only what fathers do with their kids, but also, how to recognize all of those special things that you as parents do for each other.”

“That’s right," she replies, nodding before turning back to the camera. "And Scott and I have spent a lot of time with our heads together, combing over all of the letters, emails, and messages that have been coming through to the studio and the _Beating Christmas_ account.”

“And we’ve run them by Olivia too, to find out what she thinks and what she’d like to see happening on the show." Scott pauses, thinking about the way they'd planned to phrase this. "One of the things she definitely wanted to talk about was the fact that there are a lot of single parents out there and – as we learnt in her original letter – dating can be hard. I can certainly relate."

He tilts his head, self-deprecatingly, and Tessa gives him a sympathetic smile as she touches his knee. He returns it in thanks.

"But it can also add an extra layer of challenge when you have kids,” he says. "I can't speak from my experience but Tess and I were talking about it earlier, weren't we?"

Tessa nods. "It's not always easy to line everything up and I know from my own experience that when I'm out grocery shopping or running around with my own kid, I often look like I just rolled right out of bed. I'm always a bit of a mess."

"Really? I can't imagine," Scott says. "You always look amazing."

Tessa hopes she's not blushing. "No, it's true! Y'know, I wake up on the weekend and we're at the rink in fifteen minutes. I don't always leave my house thinking about who I might run into that day. And sometimes just... living your life the way you're used to, you're not always on the ball when it comes to anything new. Life with my daughter is amazing, but we're so busy all the time so I can completely relate to that feeling of not knowing how to introduce other people to that routine."

"I guess that's why we're doing this, right?" Scott says, speaking to the camera. "To find a way to bring our... routines, our... universes together."

“Absolutely," Tessa replies. "That’s why, this weekend, Scott and I will be joined by a group of single parents and their children to talk about those challenges _and_ we’ll also be _challenging _each other to make the best hot sauce, right here in the studio. So make sure you tune in for that!”

“Until then, you’re welcome to join me, and Tess, as we take to the streets of Toronto. We invite you to put us to the test and challenge us to anything that you feel would show Olivia what it means to have a truly great partnership.”

“Because one of the things that we have been hearing over and over is that when it comes to relationships, it definitely takes two.”

“We know that Olivia has wished for a dad this Christmas, but she’s also learning that when it comes to family, it’s often about everyone working together, and when you _do_ have two parents in your home – no matter who they are – the most important thing is not only that they love each other, but that they also know how to have a little fun.”

“So, if you catch us when we’re in the city this week or on the road, feel free to test us out, we’re looking forward to seeing what you come up with,” Tessa says.

“And we’ll be giving Olivia a lot of ideas for when she has to interview any future potential dads.”

“So, until then, it’s goodbye from me, Tessa Virtue.”

“And me! Scott Moir.”

“See you tomorrow!”  
  


* * *

  
It doesn’t take long for somebody to suggest what was probably inevitable, and Scott finds himself standing next to Tessa at an outdoor rink with his hockey skates dangling from his fingers.

The suggestion was made a couple of days before when they’d stumbled onto a pop-up booth in Eaton Centre – after some very awkward, impromptu Christmas karaoke – that was selling magnetic tool wristbands. The guy running the stall was delighted – although clearly very nervous - with all the attention. Tessa and Scott, for their part, seemed to be attracting a small crowd no matter where they went – and he was happy for them to test the products in front of the camera that was constantly tailing them.

Scott posed with a drill, hamming it up, and flexing his arm while Tessa attached the band to his wrist, and poked a finger in his bicep to stop him showing off. There were already a couple of loose nails clinging onto it and Tessa kept asking questions about where and how this might be useful, while Scott pretended to drill holes into everything around him. He was the consummate goof, if nothing else, but Tess was far too practiced with his behaviour to let it distract her from doing her job.

Well… almost.

Tessa had asked if she could demonstrate how to use the band – before Scott drilled any actual holes into her head or into anybody else for that matter.

And that was when she lost it.

“So, I just stick the screws on like this?” she’d said, asking the obvious for the purposes of demonstration. Her hand was already reaching for them.

“Yep, just screw him,” the stall owner had said.

Tessa doubled over as the crowd around them howled with laughter, and Scott felt himself go the minute his partner, who was clearly incapable of righting herself right now, dropped the bowl of screws at his feet. He’d reached for her, helping her up by the waist, but she was laughing so loudly and so hard that she was now pulling _him_ down. The guy selling the tool kits was flustered and pink, but Scott simultaneously waved off his apologies whilst trying to breathe. Finally, he’d managed to get Tessa back on to her feet. Her face was the colour of beet, and she had tears streaming down her cheeks. She’d taken one look at Scott, whose grin was so broad you could see his upper gum line, and she’d lost it again, laughing and clutching onto his arm as if it was the only thing keeping her from lying down on the floor entirely. And then he was gone too, unable to resist the laughter rolling off her.

Absolutely none of the footage was usable. Although Scott did leave with six wristbands.  
  


Which brings him to today, standing outside in frigid temperatures, because a group of women had approached them after their – thoroughly – failed segment and told them how much they’d enjoyed watching them in _Battle of the Blades_ last year and would love to see them skate again.

It was a comment they both received often so they were used to the flow of handling that particular conversation and were almost always prepared for it. What they _hadn’t _been prepared for was the fact that _Beating Christmas_ had taken away the tightly wound control they’d both had on their relationship, and whilst he couldn’t speak for Tess, he could certainly feel the tug of war going on inside him. The thought of skating with her again in that capacity went beyond what he was willing to give right now. He barely has a lid on things as it is and taking her in his arms like that would undo him.

Maddy, who had the unique ability to tune in to their collective mood, had come up with a different kind of plan. She’d agreed that it would be great to see them out on the ice together again in some capacity – but she wasn’t prepared to sacrifice their comfort in order for them to do so.

He’d shot a look at Tessa, searching her expression for signs of relief, but he’d found her oddly unreadable.

Now, out here in the cold, he wants to say he knows why, but nothing about any of this makes sense anymore. Maddy had suggested they get a group of kids and play hockey, the network could buy out a few hours of ice time. With the children around, they could kill two birds with one stone – put another segment in the bag and get a few soundbites to add to the mixture of letters and messages they’d already received for the show. It was a formula that was working, even if at times it had veered off the beaten track.

“Great,” Maddy had said, when they’d both agreed. “Although where the hell I’m supposed to rustle up a bunch of kids from at short notice is going to be an interesting one.”

Scott remembers the way Tessa had cocked her head, obviously fighting herself.

“I think… I might know where we can get some,” she’d replied.  
  


* * *

  
“Hi, Scott Moir!” Olivia says, appearing beside him at their cordoned off section of the boards.

“Hey!” Scott says, looking around quickly for any bystanders and then back to her. “Hey, Liv, how are you?”

“Good! Best field trip ever! I bought my whole class with me today. And my teachers. Although they’re not going to skate. Mrs. McCallister said she would rather _not_ fall on her butt on national television. She didn’t use the word ‘butt’ though… but you get the idea. _Wow_, those are a lot of cameras. Do you always have so many?”

Scott looks down the way, where some of their tech crew are setting up.

“We have a couple in the studio but usually just the one when we’re out or on the road,” he tells her. “But today we’ve got a few of them so they can film at different angles without having to move. Then later it all gets edited together.”

“Oh,” she says, bouncing up and down on her toes. “Okay, well we’re all super excited!”

“Yeah?” he says. “Have you ever played hockey before?”

“I manage,” Olivia says. “Last Christmas we played street hockey and I took a puck to the knee. I was black and blue for weeks!”

She grins proudly, deciding she likes the way that Scott is smiling back at her. Clearly, he understands.

“I’m excited you're teaching us today.”

“Yeah, your mom mentioned you wanted to watch some of the show,” Scott says.

“I did,” Olivia replies. “But this is way better. Now _I _get to skate with you, and nobody’ll know it’s actually me who started all of this!”

“Do you have a secret code name I need to use, just in case?”

Frowning at him, she wonders how grown-ups can be so silly sometimes.

“_No_,” she says. “My class knows my name. If you start calling me something else, it’ll look suspicious.”

“Of course it will,” he says. “Silly me.”

Olivia nods in satisfaction.

“Scott Moir?” she says, sitting down on the bench next to him. “Is it okay if I ask you a question?”

“Sure, kid. Fire away.”

“Why don’t you play for the _Leafs_ anymore?”

“Well if I did, I’d be one of the oldest guys there,” Scott replies.

“Can you not play if you’re old?”

Scott chuckles. “Ouch kid. You calling me old?”

Olivia raises her arms and shrugs. “Hey, you said it first.”

He laughs and cocks his head at her. “Touché.”

Scott looks away, to where her mom is talking to Maddy, Mrs. McCallister and the rest of her class, and then back to her. “Your mom was a pretty incredible figure skater was she not?”

“Yeah,” Olivia replies.

“But she doesn’t compete anymore.”

“Mm hm.”

“Any idea why?”

“Mmm… because you have to train all the time and it’s important to be safe,” Olivia replies. “Lots of skaters get injured and sometimes they go back too soon, and they might make their injuries worse. Mom had bad legs… really bad… like she had to have surgery twice to fix what was wrong inside them so she could skate again. But it was hard. Hard doing those jumps all the time. So, she wanted to retire and… go out being the best I guess.”

Scott nods. “Pretty similar situation here, I think. Hockey can be very physically demanding in its own right. Sometimes we get injured… and sometimes we’ve just been playing the game a very long time and eventually your body says ‘I need to slow down a little’ because you’re not recovering fast enough.”

“And I guess it doesn’t get any better than being team captain, right?”

He smiles at her and she decides she likes the way he listens when she talks.

“Some of the best days of my life,” he tells her.

“You know what’s weird?”

“What?”

“I probably saw you play. But I didn’t know you then.”

“You mean on television?”

“Yeah, on TV, but I’ve been to Scotiabank before. We’d go to games when I was little. Me, my mom, my Aunt Jeje. There are pictures somewhere, I think.”

Scott is looking at her strangely.

“Did I… say something wrong?”

“No,” Scott says, and his face changes quickly. “No, Liv, not at all, I just… I never realized that uh…”

Olivia waits for him to finish his sentence, but he looks pretty lost, and she can’t work out why he’s having such a hard time with words when he now speaks for a living. She looks out to the ice, suddenly distracted by the excitement of getting out there.

“Oh hey,” she says. “I know a fact about you!”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“You used to live in London and play for the _Knights_! Ask me how I know this.”

“How do y- ”

“Okay then!” her mother says, appearing out of nowhere, her hands landing down on Olivia’s shoulders. “You, little lady, should be over their with your classmates and your teacher before she has a heart attack and sends out a search party.

Olivia looks between them, wondering why her mother’s eyes are wider than saucers.

“Alright,” she replies, reluctantly. “See you on the ice, Scott Moir.”

“See you,” he says.

“And get ready to kick butt!”  
  


"Butt-kicking mode activated," he replies.

* * *

  
“Hey, so, I have a question,” Scott says.

“Yes?” Tessa replies, elongating the word and eyeing him warily as she sits down beside him.

“How does Olivia know I was a _Knight_?”

Tessa sighs, setting her own pair of hockey skates by her feet.

He waits on her answer, feeling it was probably best not to push and she’s looking out at the ice now, her cheeks flushed with cold.

“She asked, and I told her,” she says, eventually. “She’s curious about you.”

The fact that she isn’t looking at him – or won’t – tells him there’s something more to it than that but he’s got nothing else that’ll allow him to probe any further.

“She – uh – told me she went to a few _Leafs_ games when I was… when I was still playing.”

“We did,” she says, finally turning her head to look at him.

“That… must have been really weird,” he says, finding it difficult to merge the idea that there might have been a time when they were underneath the same roof, and he’d had no idea.

“It was a little strange at first,” she admits.

“At first?” he says, with a lop-sided smile. “Just how many games did you go to?”

“A few,” she replies, smiling back at him. “My child is a bit of a fan, you might have heard.”

“I have,” he says, before clearing his throat. “Is… was… her mother… a bit of a fan?”

Tessa tilts her head toward her shoulder. “More of a _Habs_ girl myself.”

The tiny smile on her lips and the glint in her eyes has him swatting a hand against her knee. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that. In fact, I may have to ask you to go sit _way_ over there.”

“Okay gang!” Maddy says, appearing in front of them. “What’s going on here? What are we doing?”

“Tess just said she supports the _Habs_.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Maddy says.

“And _now_ I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear _that_,” Scott replies.

“I think it makes us rivals and if I’m not careful, I’ll be banished to the other side of the ice,” Tessa says.

“Oh well, you know, just remember what they say?” Maddy says. “Keeping your enemies closer and all that.”

Scott’s stomach knots a little when she says the word “enemies.”

“Right,” Maddy says. “So, we’re going to do a take with just the two of you, lacing up and all that. Just talk us through it and talk a little about what we’re doing out here today. I have been through all the parental permission forms, any children that we do talk to today, will have a guardian nearby or with them – those parents have all given the okay for it and we’ll take regular breaks so we might pull some kids aside on the ice or talk to them out here to create a little variety. But neither of you have to worry about that, we’ll deal with the staging, you two just… focus on what you’re doing out there and have some fun. Oh – and be grateful, I just talked a couple out of suggesting you two do a bungee chord jump.”

“Oh my God,” Tessa says. “Can you imagine?”

“Could be fun,” Scott says. “If you like your stomach hanging out with your mouth.”

“Which is why I dropped their suggestion, very carefully, in the nearest available trashcan,” Maddy says.

Tessa laughs. “Thank God! I am not _that_ impulsive.”

“Sure you are,” Scott says.

“No, I’m not,” Tessa says. “I don't jump off a bridge because someone tells me too. I plan! I organize! I have lists!”

“You _literally _walked into a sperm bank and out with a baby,” Scott says. “I’d call that pretty darn impulsive.”

There's a beat while she digests this, before she gives him a look.

“That’s, um, not how pregnancy works, Scott, you know that right? It’s important to me that you know this.”

He grins and wrinkles his nose at her.

“Oh look,” Maddy says. “My cue to exit has arrived.”

“I think she may kill us one day,” Scott says.

"Not sure we can blame her," Tessa replies, slipping out of her boots.

“Are you really a _Habs_ fan?” he says, while Maddy walks over to signal the roaming camera crew.

“Would it bother you if I were?” 

“That is an impossible question.”

“Mm, not impossible, no. But clearly enough to throw _you _off your game.”

He gives her a look that he hopes conveys he’s not falling for that. “You wish, Virtue.”

She turns her head quickly, her ponytail swishing over her shoulder.

“I guess we’ll just have to see about that then, won’t we?” she replies.  
  


* * *

  
Being on the ice with Scott is not a place she’d ever thought she’d be again in this lifetime.

He looks good, she thinks, standing on one side of the rink in his team Canada jersey, surrounded by half a dozen kids. He seems very much at home here.

Tessa, on the other hand, feels a little out of her element. Sure, she could handle herself on ice, but Scott is the superior force here, and this is a strange role reversal that sets her competitive edge on fire.

The children in front of her are buzzing with excitement, moving their pucks back and forth between their own sticks, having a go at the goal when it’s their turn. Most of them can skate, even if some of them are still in that “shuffle forward” stage.

Her own child, of course, has abandoned her to Scott’s instruction and more than once has gotten through his defense.

She glances in their direction, sparing a moment to be a proud parent. Liv is crouching down now, showing a fallen peer how to get back up. Once they’re on their feet, she holds their hand until they can find their balance again. The girl she’s holding onto is nodding and smiling, then watches the way Olivia pushes forward, then stops, letting her have a go.

It makes Tessa think about all the opportunities that she had as a kid to learn something that is not always accessible to others. She catches Scott’s eye and knows he’s thinking the same thing. It was one of the reasons why, when they took part in _Battle of the Blades_, they’d chosen a charity that helped children get into sport.

“Hey, Virtch! Intimidated yet?” Scott says, calling to her across the ice.

“In your dreams, Moir,” she replies, leaning her arms on her stick and raising an eyebrow. “I was just waiting for you to finish yacking so we can finally play some hockey!”

“Yeah!” her group of kids chorus.

She can see Olivia grinning from ear to ear.

Scott skates over, picking up speed as he does so, flying toward her before slamming on the breaks and skidding to a complete stop a foot from where she’s standing, spraying ice everywhere. Tessa doesn’t flinch.

“Cute,” she says, looping around him. “But can you do this?”

She gives Scott her stick and sets off before turning on her blades, wiggling her fingers toward him, before turning again, taking off, and landing a double axel.

The children surrounding them clap with delight, as does Scott, his gloved hands moving up and down approvingly. Tessa’s just relieved she didn’t fall on her face – it had been years since she’d last jumped in hockey skates.

She holds out a hand, gesturing to the ice with the other, and waits for Scott to hand over her stick. He sniffs, then nods his head, glancing at a camera and acknowledging her challenge. Still clutching his own stick, he moves off, following Tessa’s lead and clearing enough room from any of the children in case it all went horribly wrong. He’s still holding the stick when he jumps, landing a single and looking mighty pleased with himself when he glides to a stop.

Tessa rolls her eyes and laughs, while everybody else applauds.

“Show off,” she says.

Scott scrunches his nose up at her and sets off again quickly.

“You know jumping two singles doesn’t make it a double!”

“I’m making my own rule book!” he calls back.

She folds her arms and waits, thinking she’ll let him have this one.

His take off is good, but he over rotates it, and his free leg isn’t down in time to keep him on balance. Scott skids across the ice on his belly, somehow managing to regain control of his body enough to sit up, coming to a halt at her feet. He laughs, to show the children he’s okay, and Tessa can’t help but laugh too, lowering her arms so she can pull him to his feet. His cheeks are pink with laughter and Tessa decides it's a good look on him.

“Hey, next skating duet we could do, we should call it ‘Clumsy on Ice’ eh?” he says.

She blinks, trying to calm her racing heartbeat due to both his proximity and to the ease with which he’d suggested a ‘next time’. After their conversation with Maddy earlier, she was sure they were both on the same page about this. They absolutely could _not_ skate together.

The reminder of an “almost” would be too much.

They should probably be grateful that they’re not live right now. Tessa has a feeling that any camera on her would have found the quickening pulse in her neck, telling. She hopes that Maddy would see the sense in editing that particular reaction out.

Scott seems to have realized his error and releases her hands, before pushing back a little and scooping up his stick.

“Alright!” he says. “Who wants to play some hockey, eh?”

Tessa’s relief that the moment has passed wars strangely against the sudden absence of his hands. A few weeks ago, she would have balked at the idea of spending this much time with him. How could she, when every minute together meant fighting against their carefully constructed status quo? But now, out here with him, and every other second before that since they’d found themselves tangled inside the web of one very public mistake, she can’t imagine going back. Their ruse had shattered with its revealing, and as terrifying as it is to feel the wound ripping open inside of her, she knows there’s no sealing it up this time. No band aid would hold it, not while Scott was holding her hand, or laughing next to her, or looking at her in that way that made her entire inside melt. She has no idea what’s happening or why it’s happening so quickly, she just knows that the only way to plug it is to make it to Christmas, to come out on top, to win this stupid deal with Catherine so that Scott can move on and she can gain some peace.

But does she really want that? Peace?

The idea of hosting her own show had been a dream, and from the moment she’d stepped on set their very first day, she’d envisioned the end in sight. So why now, with it finally here, was she so reluctant to give it up?  
  


* * *

  
Olivia doesn’t think this could have been any better even if she had planned it all herself.

Her mom hadn’t been crazy about the idea of her coming down to the studio to watch a taping, and Olivia had to pull out all the stops to convince her that it wouldn’t be a problem. She could stay by Maddy’s side, out of the way, and nobody would be any the wiser.

The jury was still out on whether her mom would _actually_ let her go and waiting on the decision had already caused Olivia to write down as many ideas as she could think of, just in case she needed a little extra persuading.

And then her mother had come home and told her that she (and the rest of her class) would be invited to play hockey with her and Scott. That their parents were being told of the field trip and would be offered a chance to be a part of _Beating Christmas_.

Olivia, who was already thrilled with the direction the show was taking – that direction being her mother spending as much time as possible with Scott Moir – was beyond excited to now be a part of the show herself.

“We’ve got sunny skies and fresh ice today,” she says, to herself, watching Scott laugh at something her mom had said. “It's a perfect day to fall in love.”  
  


* * *

  
The final showdown – Tessa versus Scott - gets under way and Olivia is certain she hasn’t seen her mother having this much fun in a long time. She’s also certain – although she wasn’t always sure until this moment – that somewhere along the way, Scott started letting her win. There’s simply no other explanation for how her mother had won that last power play.

Not that her mom is terrible at hockey, mind – she really isn’t – but she’s no Scott Moir either.

_If I could travel back in time,_ she thinks, _I’d definitely pay more attention to old Leafs games. I wonder if you can still get his jersey?_

She watches Scott standing in front of the net, daring her mother to get through.

“Come on, Virtch, is that all you got?” he says, stopping the puck with his shin.

“Do you have a bank of cheesy lines you keep lying around for just such occasions?” she replies.

He pulls a face which she returns, and Olivia grins alongside her classmates.

Scott kicks the puck back toward her.

“Free shot,” he says. “On me.”

“I don’t need your charity, Moir,” her mother says, airily.

“Well… I mean… if you don’t want it?”

“Oh no, no take-backsies,” she tells him, scooping the puck with her stick and lining herself up to face him again.

Olivia presses her fingers to her cheeks, loyalty to her mother outweighing all else.

“C’mon, Momma,” she whispers.

Although there’s no way that Scott could have heard her, he turns his head suddenly, his eyes meeting hers. He gives her a wink. Olivia, for her part, can’t look away.

She watches her mother driving down the ice toward him, while he bounces back and forth in wait. She’s four feet away when she stops suddenly, straightening up, and looking out at the boards to her left. He follows her gaze, wondering what had caused her unexpected halt, and Olivia watches as her mom tucks the puck neatly, right through the middle of Scott Moir’s legs.

The crowd cheers and Scott hangs his head in his hands, while the kids jump down from the boards and skate out to meet them, laughing and applauding. Olivia heads straight for Scott, tugging on his sleeve.

“What’s up squirt?” he says, flashing her a grin.

She crooks her finger at him until he’s bending over, hands on knees.

“I know you were letting her win,” she says.

His smile only confirms it.

“Keep my secret?” he says.

Olivia moves her mouth from side to side and shrugs.

“Mmm, okay!”

“Okay?” he says, and she grins.

He tousles her hair and she squirms out from under him.

“Hey, no touchy!” she says, before putting both hands on his head and ruffling his.

Olivia likes the way he laughs.

She likes the way he doesn’t mind talking to her.

“Hey you two, what’s going on over here?”

Her mother appears beside them, leaning her elbow on her daughter’s shoulder.

“Nothing!” Scott says.

Olivia notes the look of disbelief.

“Nothing!” she says, when she finds her own face the subject of scrutiny.

“Mm hm,” her mother replies.

“Honest!” Olivia says.

“Scott, Maddy says she’s stuck notes for tomorrow in your gear bag.”

“Is this because she absolutely does not trust me to check my email?”

“Highly probable.”

“Scott Moir?” Olivia says. “Would you like to come bake cookies with us tonight?”

“Uh…” Scott says.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure that Scott has better things to do on a Friday night than make Christmas cookies.”

“But -”

“No ‘buts’. Scott has already given up enough of his time as it is and _tonight_, he has to go through the notes for our next show. Now go and join the rest of your class, please, your bus will be here in a minute.”

Olivia looks up between them, trying to work out whether Scott had wanted to say something about it, but her mother has already moved off, collecting equipment up off the ice as she goes.

“Maybe another time, kid,” Scott says.

Olivia slumps, heading back toward the others, and kicking ice up at the boards when she gets there. She grabs her skate bag, grumbling a little about life being unfair as she pulls the skates off her feet, dries off the blades, and sticks them inside. Glancing toward the film crew, she spots her mother, Scott, and Maddy standing in a small circle. None of them are looking this way.

She presses her lips together and eyes Scott’s gear bag just a few feet away. Her teacher was currently distracted, helping others with her skates. If she could just…

Olivia slides down the bench and then checks to see if anyone else was alerted by the movement. Mrs. McCallister was still wrestling with someone’s boot.

Go for it, she thinks, and rolls off the bench and onto the floor, crawling along until she reaches the space just behind Scott’s bag. She pulls it toward her, tugging at the zip and pulling it down, before sticking her hand inside. It closes around the papers that Maddy had put in there and Olivia rolls them up, tucking them down the length of her jacket, before flipping onto her belly, zipping the bag back up and crawling back toward her peers.

_Right, see? Easy_, she thinks, glancing back at her mother and Scott just as Mrs. McCallister starts a headcount. Olivia nods to herself.

Sometimes love just takes a little meddling.  
  


* * *

  
Scott rings the doorbell, rocking back onto the heels of his shoes, and wondering if he still had time to run. There’s no answer the first time, even though he can see the Christmas tree lights in the window, and he presses again, thinking he’d had a golden opportunity to bow out just then and here he was still bringing attention to himself.

“Just a second!” he hears, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting.

Tessa answers the door and for a minute, he forgets what he’s doing there.

“Scott?” she says. 

He stares back at her, his eyes focusing in on the ridiculously fluffy socks adorning her feet.

“Hello? Earth to Scott?”

His head jerks up and he tries opening his mouth… which is when he spots the flour on her nose. And in her hair. The messy ponytail on top of her head making it seem all the more adorable.

“Okay, get in here,” Tessa says, grabbing a fistful of coat and yanking him through the door before closing it firmly behind them.

The action seems to have kick-started his brain.

“I’m usually a… get to know you first kinda guy,” he says.

“I think history would argue a different precedent,” she replies, stepping back and eyeing him with her hands on her hips. “And it’s freezing. Is everything okay?”

“What?” he says, now thoroughly distracted by the t-shirt she was wearing. “Oh, right. I tried calling. Nice shirt by the way.”

Tessa looks down, to the bold print reading “ON THE NAUGHTY LIST”, and Scott can see another small trail of flour along her neck.

“Sorry, my phone wasn’t in the kitchen,” she says. “And it was a gift from my mother. She thought it would be amusing considering the circumstances.”

“It is,” he replies, his eyes twinkling. “Think she can get me one in my size?”

“I’ll have to ask,” Tessa says, rubbing her hands up and down her arms to warm herself up again. “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.”

“Doing?”

“Yes… doing.”

“Doing… right,” he says, buying himself another few seconds for the synapses in his brain to reconnect. “You know you’ve got flour on your face, eh?”

She rubs her fingers across the bridge of her nose, and he watches as the flour now spreads to her cheek.

Scott can’t help smiling. “Cookie-making going well then?”

Tessa rolls her eyes, smiling with embarrassment. “Something like that.”

He tries to remember why he came over, but everything comes back blank. He’s so used to seeing her in heels or skates that he forgets how tiny she is without them.

“Am I going to have to arm wrestle you for information?” Tessa says, eyeing him curiously.

“What?” he says. “No, uh, no. Actually, I just… I got home earlier and when I got out the shower I thought I’d run through the notes for tomorrow’s show and they weren’t there.”

“But Maddy said she’d put them in your bag,” Tessa says.

“Yeah, no, they weren’t there. I tried calling Maddy a couple of times and I think it was the – uh – third maybe? I don’t know, but she picked up and told me to ‘go away’. She was _very_ firm about that.”

Tessa laughs.

“What’s so funny?”

“Jenn is leaving early tomorrow morning for a shoot in Yellowknife. She won’t be back until Christmas Eve.”

“Okay, yeah I knew that but... how long does it take to pack?”

She bites down on her smile.

“I don't think they were - um - packing,” she says, her face wincing a little.

“Shit," Scott says, trying not to think about the fact that Tessa's embarrassment over talking about their producer's sex life whilst also trying _not_ to talk about it, was adorable. "_And_, I'm going to pay for that one later, eh?"

“Uh huh,” she replies, lips twitching.

He rocks back on his heels again, searching for a way to loop the conversation back on track.

“So… uh…”

_Jesus Christ, Moir, what is going on with you?_

“Would you… like a dictionary?” Tessa says, that small smile toying at her lips again.

“Y’know what?” he replies, laughing. “I really, _really_ would.”

“Come on, I can print off a copy of the notes for you. I was going to look at it later.”

“Thanks.”

“It’s strange though,” she says. “I mean, I saw Maddy holding them earlier. So, I can’t for the life of me work out why they weren’t in there.”

“Yeah, it beats me.”

“Oh. Hey Scott Moir!” Olivia says, stepping out of the kitchen to meet them and blinking up at them far too innocently. “What brings you here?”

_Scratch that_, Scott thinks, glancing in Tessa’s direction. He knows _exactly_ why they weren’t in there.  
  


* * *

  
Scott knows the exact minute he’d made a mistake.

It was two hours earlier when he thought walking up the front steps and ringing her doorbell would be a great idea. Actually… if he’s really honest, it was the twelve minutes before that, when he decided to leave the comfort and safety of his own home to drive all the way to Tessa’s house.

Now he’s in her kitchen with her cute as all hell kid, who’d wrapped him in an apron and shoved a tube of coloured frosting in his hand before his sweater could even reach the top of his head.

He tries to gauge Tessa’s reaction to all this but he thinks she’s too distracted by the stress of having someone else in her kitchen while she’s doing her least favourite activity in the world – namely coordinating oven times so she doesn’t burn down the goddamn house.

“Am I doing this right?” he says, looking down at the tray of already-baked cookies in front of him.

“Very good tree decorating Scott Moir,” Olivia says. “I like the tinsel.”

“Thank you. I was pretty proud of it myself.”

Olivia shifts the fruit bowl out of the way to make room for another finished tray.

“Interesting assortment of bananas you’ve got there,” he says.

“It’s the law of bananas.”

He glances at Tess. “The law of bananas?”

"Don't question it," she whispers over the top of Olivia's head.

“Yes,” Olivia replies. “When you choose your bananas, you buy two of every colour. _Then_ when you get home, you start with the very yellows. Then by the time you move onto the ones that were semi yellow -”

“They’re already perfectly ripe,” Scott finishes. "I get it. The law of bananas."

“He gets it,” Olivia says with a grin, looking up at her mother.

Tessa is smiling back at them and shaking her head.

“I know my bananas,” Scott says.

“That’s because you _are_ one,” Tessa replies. Her smile as she says it hits him square in the chest and confuses the hell out of him.

“Do you want to do a snowflake?” Olivia says. “Here, trade places with me.”

She is already shuffling him out of the way, leaving him no choice but to step into the middle of their decorative conveyor belt.

“Sorry,” Tessa mouths at him.

“It’s not a problem,” he replies, keeping his voice low.

She frowns a little, like she’s trying to work out if he’s being honest with her or not. Not that he blames her. There’s a reason they’ve kept their professional lives and their personal lives separate. It kept the lid on the box. He attempts a reassuring smile, hoping it was enough to convince her.

“So, um, Liv,” he says, thinking it’s safer if he stays with her. “What are you learning in school?”

“Oh, you know… stuff,” she replies.

“Oh,” Scott says, exchanging a smile with Tess. “Stuff. Yeah, I think I’ve heard of that.”

Out the corner of his eye, he can see Tessa choking on a laugh.

“How’s skating?” he says.

“Good,” Olivia replies, her tongue poking out as she squeezes at her tube.

“Good,” Scott mouths, leaning into Tess. “What’s the ETA on that dictionary?”

She draws a dot of frosting on his knuckle in reply.

He looks down at it, then back to her. Tessa’s cheek is still smeared with flour and he’s pretty sure she’s left it there deliberately. She holds out a hand to him, the gesture confusing him even further when his own hand - seemingly of its own accord - comes up to meet it, their palms touching. He places a dot in return.

She smiles, licks the frosting off the back of her hand, and returns to her snowman.

It drives him fucking crazy.

Does she have any idea what she’s doing to him, standing there, in that t-shirt and sweats, with those oversized socks and that flour all over her face? How on earth was he meant to concentrate when she’s out here breathing next to him? What was he supposed to do, just stand here and –

“Um, you might want to grab another cookie there,” Olivia says. “You’re kinda overdoing it on that one.”

Scott looks down to find his snowflake looks more like a tumbleweed.

“Uh, yeah, sorry about that,” he says.

He swears he can see Tessa smile.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Olivia says, reaching into the tray of cookies and grabbing herself a Santa.

“Uh…”

Scott finds himself looking at Tessa again but she’s concentrating on setting the snowman’s buttons. Deliberately, he thinks.

“Um…”

“Liv, that’s personal,” Tessa says, standing upright and looking across him to her daughter. “It’s not polite to go prying into people’s lives.”

Olivia purses her lips.

“I wasn’t trying to pry,” she says. “I just… wanted to make sure you won’t be alone for Christmas.”

“Nice save,” Scott whispers to Tessa.

“Uh huh,” Tessa replies.

“Uh, well,” Scott says. “I usually spend Christmas with my family out in Ilderton. My parents live there and my aunt and uncle. My brothers often get there at some point, with their wives and their kids.”

“Is that where you’ll be this year?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Are you… taking anybody with you?”

“_Liv_,” her mother warns.

Scott laughs.

“No, I’m not taking anybody with me,” he says. Is it just his imagination or was that relief in Tessa's eyes? “Except Barker, of course.”

Olivia’s eyes light up at the name.

“Can I come play with Barker sometime?” she says. “I really like him.”

“Sure,” Scott says, glancing at Tess. “If it’s okay with your mom.”

“Can I Mom?” Olivia says. “It’ll be good practice for when I get a da – I mean – if we ever get a dog.”

“We’ll see,” Tessa says, her eyes not leaving the counter. Scott has a feeling she's dealing with something a little more difficult than decorating a cookie.

“Where exactly is Ilderton anyway?” Olivia asks.

“Oh,” Scott says. “It’s just outside of London. It’s a pretty small place. Not much there but farmland and a rink.”

He can feel Tessa stiffen beside him, although he has no idea why.

“Oh, that’s right!” Olivia says. “London! I used to live in London when I was a baby did you know that?”

“I – um…” Scott has no idea what the correct answer is here.

If he does the Math then of course he knows this, but he can’t exactly tell Olivia that.

“Then we moved away for a while so my mom could go back to school and then we moved to Toronto! I don’t really remember the house in London very much, just that I was born there. Grandma always says I just _dropped _right out. Hey, do you want to hear about sperms?”

He chokes on nothing, and beside him he can hear Tessa doing the same.

She recovers faster than he does, though, and wipes her hands on a dish cloth.

“Okay, little miss,” she says. “Time for bed.”

“But -”

“No 'buts', It’s getting late.”

“No, it’s not!” Olivia says. “I’m not even tired, honest!”

“Yes, you are,” Tessa says, “Unless you’d like to rethink coming down to the studio tomorrow?”

“You’re coming down to the studio?” Scott asks, raising his eyebrows at Tessa.

“I couldn’t get a sitter at short notice,” Tessa says. “My sister has a client and my mother has an incredibly busy day, seeing as it's the last weekend before Christmas. Also, _someone_... wouldn't let me hear the end of it.”

Scott grins as she cocks her head down toward Olivia.

“Well, I guess we’ll have to say ‘until tomorrow’ kid,” he says.

“But we’re having such a good time,” Olivia says. “You’re having a good time, right, Scott Moir?”

“The best,” Scott says. “But even I can’t argue with bedtime and I _definitely_ know better than to argue with your mother.”

He catches Tessa's grimace, and he knows it's because arguing was probably something they should have done a long time ago. At the very least, to lay it all bare in front of them.

Olivia sighs. “But who’s going to finish all of these?”

“Well, um, I’ll keep going and help your mom out for a little while longer okay?”

Olivia’s face brightens. “Okay!”

She throws off her apron and skips out of the kitchen and Tessa spares him a glance before following her out.

Fifteen minutes later, she’s back, and she’s obviously surprised to still see him there.

“Hi,” she says, trying to hide the embarrassment currently coursing through her.

“Hi,” he says. “I thought I’d throw some of this in the dishwasher for you.”

“Thank you,” she says, shifting the decorated cookies out of the way, so she could concentrate on the counter tops. “Look I’m really sorry about…”

“Sperms?”

Tessa snorts. “I… it’s probably best if you don’t ask.”

Scott raises his palms and tosses a damp sponge in her direction, then turns back to the sink.

“It’s just… she was asking the other day about how fertility clinics work and whether I thought her biological father could dance and… I really didn’t know what to say,” she continues. “I knew the day would come when she'd start asking hot it works but I just... I wasn't really prepared. I’m sorry, I’m sure you really don’t want to hear about… the alternative ways that women acquire sperm.”

Scott places a dish cloth over his shoulder.

“It’s not a problem,” he says. “I have some... knowledge on the matter."

She looks up in confusion.

"I was nineteen and broke once," he explains. "They pay well, that I can tell you.”

“You were… _you_… have donated sperm?”

He shrugs. “Hey, I was down to my last twenty dollars.”

Tessa rolls her eyes and laughs.

“So, there could be – like – dozens of little Moirs running about somewhere?”

“What, you mean… more than there already are?”

She laughs.

“I’m sorry Liv is having such a tough time with this at the moment,” he says.

“She’s just… I don’t know… suddenly she’s curious about a lot of things and… I feel like I’m just trying to catch up with where her head is.”

“It’s okay, Tess,” he says.

“Is it?” she replies, swiping her forehead and caking it in flour. It rains down in front of her eyelashes. “Perfect.”

“Come here,” he says, grabbing a wet paper towel and taking her by the hand.

“Oh, um you don’t have to…”

He dabs at her temple, clearing up the field of white, before pressing gently at her nose and cheek. “Flour looks good on you,” he says.

Her hand is trembling against his and it occurs to him, vaguely, that holding onto it was not the wisest course of action here. Still, she’s not letting go, and he counts that as a win even though he’s not sure why. Why now? When a year ago she couldn't wait to get away from him.

“I should get you those notes,” she says, quietly, her hand slipping out of his.

Scott follows her through to the living room, looking around the place, while she heads to the printer in her office. He stumbles into a book nook, with high shelves all around him. It’s clean and cozy – and it feels very "Tess".

“It gets a lot of sunshine,” Tessa says, coming up behind him. “It’s a great place sometimes just to sit and think or meditate.”

He nods, trying not to feel like an intruder.

“Here you go,” she says, holding out a pile of paper.

There’s no logical reason why he does it. Any normal person would have just grabbed the papers at the top. But instead, he reaches beneath them, so that his hand brushes hers. She looks up at his touch, her eyes wide and searching, and he thinks that if he let himself, he could look at them forever.

“We could – um – go over them together if you’d like?” she says.

Was that hope in her voice?

His entire body screams at him to say “yes”, to follow her to the couch, and sit beside her, lean into her shoulder to read whatever had been set out for them while his knee brushed hers, their hands irresistibly close. It would be easy, he thinks, to say “yes” to her, knowing he’d never come back from it.

She’s still watching him, waiting for his answer.

“I, uh,” he says, and he can feel the catch in his throat while his body tries to fight him. “I can’t. I’m sorry. Barker’s with my neighbour and – uh – they have dogs too they usually don’t mind but I didn’t expect to be out this long and… I really need to be getting back.”

“No, I understand,” she says, quickly, guiding him back toward her living room. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s fine,” he says, trying to reassure her, as he pulls his sweater back on over his head. “I had a great time. I’m – uh – I’m glad Olivia tricked me into it.”

“Again… sorry.”

“It’s okay, Tess” he says, picking up his scarf and trying not to strangle himself in his haste when his fingers refuse to cooperate.

Tessa rescues him, unwinding the knot, and draping it around his neck.

“You know, it’s much better if you _don’t _cut off your circulation,” she says, wrapping it around him and tying it off neatly.

“I’ll try to remember that,” he replies, thinking that if he was close enough to count her eyelashes, then he was far too goddamn close. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, still holding on gently to the edge of his scarf. She's looking at him like she doesn't know how to let go. “I’ll – um – walk you to the door.”

Scott nods, trying to understand how a woman he talks to every day suddenly has him speechless. She grabs his coat from the closet and holds it out to him. He tells himself that it's his imagination, that she's not disappointed he's leaving.

“Okay, um… see you tomorrow?” she says.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Thank you for – uh – oh… gloves! I left them on the table, I’ll just run and grab them.”

He jogs back toward the living room, catching his foot on a box and sending it spinning before retrieving his gloves. Shoving them into his back pocket, he shifts the box out of the way and back into it's place – tucking it under the table a little more so that nobody else trips up on it.

It’s the flash of green and yellow that catches his eye and he reaches in, despite himself, pulling out a jersey he hasn’t seen in years.

_Oh my God._

She’s still waiting by the door holding his coat, when he walks over, trying not to think about what any of this means.

“All set?” Tessa says.

“Yeah,” Scott replies, patting his pocket before accepting his coat. “Got ‘em.”

“Okay, well, drive safe,” she says.

“You too.”

“What?”

“What? Oh, yeah, sorry. Um. Sorry.”

She laughs, softly, her hand brushing his arm. “Goodnight, Scott,” she says.

His hand pauses on the handle, his head telling him to pull, his heart telling him to turn around and –

"Ah, screw it," he says, dropping the handle and palming her cheek, pressing his nose against her own, much like he did all those years ago, giving her an out. She doesn’t move, but he can feel the quick pulse of her breath against his chin. And then his arm slips around her, closing the gap, his lips seeking hers, warm, soft… wanting.

And then she responds, opening her mouth to him, tasting of fruit and sugar and stolen cookie crumbs. She sighs into him, reaching her hand around the back of his neck as their kiss deepens, pulling him closer. He has absolutely no idea how there could be anyone in this world who makes him feel so much. He just knows that when he’s around her, he loses all sense of himself.

And then, just like that, they’re both pulling away, her eyes closed just seconds longer than his, before she blinks up at him in confusion. He strokes her cheek with his thumb, reassuring her that she hadn’t done anything wrong, that they’d just… got caught up in something neither one of them could understand.

He grabs the door handle and pulls, feeling the cold air hitting him in the face, and finding he needs to turn, to look at her one last time before he leaves. Her hands are pressed against her ribs and it takes every inch of his self control not to reach for them, reach for her, and fold her into his arms again. But he doesn’t think he’s earned that and he’s pretty sure she’d agree… however, much he hoped she wouldn’t. He nods quickly, assuring her he wasn’t about to try that again and she nods back, one of her hands lifting briefly in farewell.

He nods again, reading the message loud and clear.

“Goodnight, Tess,” he says, walking outside into the night and shutting the door behind him.  
  


* * *

  
Olivia Virtue, who had sneaked out of her room and down the stairs just long enough to see them kiss, but not long enough to witness their awkward parting, lay on her bed, hugging herself in excitement.

She admits when she started all this, she wasn’t remotely thinking about Scott Moir being "the one". But now? It was so obvious! Of _course_, he was the one! He liked her, he liked her mom, and she’d swear on her skates, that her mom liked him too.

Her plan was working.

It was happening!

She was getting a dad for Christmas.  
  


* * *

  
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